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BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 


BRINGING  OUT 
BARBARA 


BY 

ETHEL  TRAIN 

AUTHOR  OF   "SON" 


CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 
NEW  YORK     :    :    :    :    :    1917 


COPYRIGHT,  1917,  BY 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


Published  March,  1917 


TO 
MARGARET 


2133243 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 


BRINGING  OUT   BARBARA 

THE  EXPERIENCES  OF  A  NEW  YORK  DEBUTANTE 


14  AT  OTHER!"  I  cried. 

IT  A.  "How  do  you  do,  dear?"  a  care- 
fully modulated  voice  replied. 

Two  minutes  earlier  we  had  puffed  noisily 
into  the  station,  and  the  train  had  disgorged 
a  car-load  of  our  girls,  several  of  whom,  like 
myself,  were  leaving  school  for  good.  I  was 
staggering  under  the  weight  of  two  huge 
grips,  one  in  each  hand,  not  having  been 
able  to  find  in  my  pocketbook  any  change 
for  a  tip  to  the  porter. 

Mothers  and  mothers  were  pressing  eager 
faces  against  the  railing  at  the  top  of  the 
flight  of  steps  we  were  about  to  ascend,  but 
I  did  not  discover  mine.  It  was  terrible, 


2  BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

that  sight  of  other  people's  mothers  when  I 
couldn't  find  my  own !  She  hadn't  troubled, 
I  thought,  to  meet  her  girl,  who  was  coming 
home  to  her  forever.  I  jumped  to  the  con- 
clusion that  some  social  engagement  had 
been  allowed  to  interfere  with  that  reunion 
to  which  I  had  been  looking  forward  for 
months. 

In  the  anguish  of  that  moment  I  could  not 
remember  what  she  looked  like.  I  knew  I 
had  a  mother,  but  her  face  was  without 
features,  like  the  faces  of  the  people  I  used 
to  draw  when  I  was  a  little  girl.  I  could  not 
imagine  the  faces  adequately,  so  I  just  left 
them  out. 

Laboring  up  the  steps  under  my  load,  I 
saw  Jean  Royce  already  at  the  top,  her 
little  slim  figure  almost  obliterated  by  the 
clasp  of  a  big  man's  arms.  No  father  was 
waiting  to  sweep  me  off  my  feet  like  that. 
It  was  the  abomination  of  desolation,  this 
arrival.  I  did  not  know  which  I  felt  more 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA  3 

like — a  dog  without  any  master  or  a  kitchen- 
maid  going  to  a  new  place. 

Then  suddenly  I  saw  father  and  mother 
both,  standing  quietly  beside  a  pillar.  Father 
looked  appallingly  tall,  had  on  a  silk  hat 
and  carried  a  cane.  He's  six  feet  one  and 
always  wonderfully  dressed,  dark,  with  a 
clear  olive  skin,  smooth  black  hair,  and  a 
mustache  that's  too  small  for  him.  I  should 
sketch  it  several  inches  longer  and  much 
thicker  on  an  ideal  head.  He's  continually 
being  mistaken  for  an  Englishman,  though 
he  was  never  in  England  in  his  life  until  he 
had  finished  college,  and,  I  think,  looks  more 
French  than  English.  At  any  rate,  he 
doesn't  seem  a  bit  like  an  American,  even  to 
me.  He  was  born  in  New  York  and  has 
never  lived  anywhere  else;  yet  when  I  walked 
up-town  with  him  once,  last  Christmas  vaca- 
tion, he  observed  everything  as  though  he 
were  trying  to  form  an  impression  of  manners 
and  customs  previously  unknown. 


4  BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

Mother  would  have  served  to  perfection 
as  a  cover  design  for  a  fashion  magazine. 
She  was  faultlessly  gowned,  creamily  spatted, 
with  her  hat  tilted  at  an  angle  of  forty-five 
degrees,  and,  notwithstanding  the  breathless 
humidity  of  the  June  day,  almost  obliter- 
ated as  to  contours  of  cheek  and  chin  by  a 
large,  fluffy  white-fox  boa.  Her  whole  ap- 
pearance was  calculated  to  deceive  the  ob- 
server as  to  her  age.  It  did  not  seem  possible 
that  she  could  be  the  mother  of  a  girl  of 
seventeen. 

When  she  made  her  even  rejoinder  to  my 
glad  cry  she  protruded  her  cheek  out  of  the 
fur  just  far  enough  for  me  to  kiss  it.  As  I 
pressed  trembling  lips  against  its  coolness  I 
noticed  a  resemblance  between  her  eyes  and 
those  of  the  dead,  stuffed  animal  that  dangled 
over  her  shoulder. 

Shocked  that  such  a  thought  had  entered 
my  mind,  I  turned  to  father  with  some  idea 
of  throwing  myself  into  his  arms.  Luckily 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA  5 

I  perceived  in  time  the  absurdity  of  this 
impulse.  He  was  inspecting  me  with  his 
habitual  air  of  detachment.  This  affectation 
embarrassed  me.  He  had  known  perfectly 
well  for  seventeen  years  what  I  looked  like. 
The  dimple  in  my  cheek,  the  irregularity  of 
my  nose,  the  cleft  in  my  chin — all  had  been 
patent  in  my  babyhood;  it  was  unnecessary 
to  observe  them  further.  The  changes  that 
counted  were  inside  changes,  due  to  spiritual 
growth,  but  to  these  I  well  knew  he  would  de- 
vote no  scrutiny. 

"You've  grown,  I  think?"  he  hazarded 
politely;  and  I  answered,  with  regret: 

"Not  much,  I'm  afraid,"  adding:  "Oh !  I 
almost  forgot.  I  must  go  and  report  to  Miss 
Wier  that  I've  been  met.  I  won't  be  a  min- 
ute." 

I  found  Miss  Wier,  in  whose  charge  we 
had  made  the  journey,  standing  alone,  with 
her  hands  crossed,  a  thin,  prim  presence, 
spectacled,  and  as  angular  as  the  subject 


6  BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

she  taught — geometry.  Contrasted  with 
hers,  my  own  lot  seemed  suddenly  full  of 
warmth  and  color.  For  her  there  were 
neither  partings  nor  meetings.  In  a  spot  so 
suggestive  of  palpitating  emotion  as  a  great 
terminal  the  isolation  of  that  patient  figure 
wrung  my  heart. 

I  wanted  to  share  with  her  everything  I 
had — my  father,  my  mother,  and  my  home. 
My  impulse  was  to  take  her  by  the  hand, 
turn  a  deaf  ear  to  her  trifling  protests, 
carry  her  off  bodily.  On  fire  with  my  desire, 
I  faced  about  and  ran  back. 

"Mother!"  I  cried.  "May  I  ask  Miss 
Wier  to  stay  with  us  while  she's  in  town  ? 
She's  our  geometry  teacher,  you  know,  who 
chaperoned  us  on  the  train.  There's  nobody 
to  meet  her  and  I'm  sure  she's  going  to  some 
boarding-house." 

"Not  to-day,"  said  mother.  Then,  see- 
ing in  my  face  a  very  abyss  of  disappoint- 
ment, she  explained:  "There  are  people  for 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA  7 

dinner."  And  she  added,  as  though  making 
a  great  concession:  "If  you  want  it  very 
much,  I  might  be  able  to  manage  it  to- 
morrow." 

To-morrow !  Bereft  of  spontaneity,  what 
would  the  invitation  amount  to  ? 

"If  I  can't  have  her  now,"  I  returned 
hotly,  "I  won't  have  her  at  all." 

"You  talk  like  a  spoiled  child,"  was  the 
answer.  "You  don't  seem  to  have  out- 
grown your  wilfulness." 

At  these  words  memory  turned  up  in  my 
mind  old  scenes — stormy  tears  and  tempers, 
frequent  foot-stampings,  innumerable  clinch- 
ings  of  fists — of  which  I  had  repented  bit- 
terly in  my  exile,  vowing  that  they  should 
never  occur  again.  Could  it  have  been  that 
they  had  had  any  justification  in  fact  ? 
That  they  had  been  a  child's  weapons  of 
defense  against  false  standards  of  con- 
duct, misinterpretation  of  motives,  and  want 
of  heart  ?  But,  even  if  this  were  so,  I  was 


8  BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

wrong,  now  that  reason  had  wakened,  in 
resorting  to  such  means. 

"I  only  meant,"  I  said  slowly,  "that  I 
didn't  think  she'd  care  to  move  after  she 
was  settled.  She'd  have  unpacked  her  bag, 
and  all  that.  Is  it  a  formal  dinner?" 

"No,"  said  mother;  "informal.  There  is 
no  formal  entertaining  in  New  York  in 
June." 

"Then,"  I  urged,  "what  would  it  matter 
about  having  one  more  chair  at  the  table  ? 
Couldn't  you  just  slide  her  in  ?" 

"People  are  not  slid  in  at  dinner,"  was 
the  reply.  "Besides  making  the  number 
uneven,  she  would  be  put  in  the  embarrass- 
ing position  of  having  nothing  in  common 
with  my  other  guests.  It's  out  of  the  ques- 
tion. Please  go  now  and  report." 

I  went,  genuinely  puzzled  as  to  what  con- 
stituted informality.  Offhand  I  should  have 
defined  an  informal  dinner  as  one  admit- 
ting of  any  amount  of  elasticity  in  regard 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA  9 

to  arrangement — everybody  moving  up  at 
the  last  moment  to  make  room  for  one 
more. 

"There  you  are  at  last,  Barbara!'*  said 
Miss  Wier  when  she  caught  sight  of  me.  "All 
the  others  are  accounted  for.  Have  you  been 
met?" 

"Yes,  Miss  Wier,"  I  replied  glibly,  in  per- 
functory school  phraseology,  and  then  stood 
silent  before  her,  in  the  grip  of  sudden  real- 
izations. 

Of  a  multitude  of  small  obediences  dis- 
tributed over  years,  this  was  the  final  one. 
The  school  had  made  its  ultimate  demand 
of  me;  imposed  its  behests  upon  me  for  the 
last  time.  Henceforth  it  could  dictate  to 
me  no  more  forever.  Should  I  be  able  to 
stand  alone  ?  Fearful  of  liberty,  fearful  of 
emancipation,  I  felt  unaccountably  home- 
sick for  the  old  surroundings  with  their 
hitherto  irksome  props:  demerits  for  trans- 
gression of  rules,  marks  for  untidinesses, 


io          BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

permissions  written  and  signed.  Without 
these,  how  was  I  to  know  whether  I  did  well 
or  ill? 

At  the  door  of  my  prison  I  stood  hesitant, 
blinking  at  the  daylight.  I  was  unaware  that 
these  thoughts  showed  in  my  face,  until  I 
saw  Miss  Wier's  eyes  soften  strangely  under 
her  glasses. 

"It's  hard  to  give  you  up.  It's  harder  for 
us  to  give  you  up,"  she  said  in  a  tone  I  had 
never  heard  her  use  before,  "than  it  is  for 
you  to  leave  us.  How  we  shall  miss  you,  my 
child!" 

Tears  started  to  my  eyes.  I  threw  both 
arms  round  her  neck  and  squeezed  her  with 
all  my  strength. 

"Oh,  Miss  Wier!"  I  choked.  "After  all 
the  bother  I've  been  to  you  with  my  rotten 
work  in  mathematics!" 

She  only  smiled.  At  school  she  got  up 
with  her  subject,  spent  the  day  with  it,  and 
took  it  to  bed  with  her  to  ponder  it  in  her 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA          11 

dreams.  Now  she  vouchsafed  it  not  even 
passing  attention. 

"I  hope  nothing  will  spoil  you,"  she  said 
fervently,  bending  over  to  kiss  me  on  the 
lips.  "Dear  Barbara!  Good-by!" 

I  could  give  no  expression  to  my  grief  at 
having  to  let  our  association  drop  then  and 
there,  just  as  it  had  sloughed  off  the  rela- 
tion of  teacher  and  pupil,  so  hampering  to  the 
growth  of  friendship  on  equal  terms.  To 
breathe  a  word  of  what  had  passed  between 
mother  and  myself  would  have  been  arrant 
disloyalty;  so  I  gave  her  one  more  squeeze, 
released  her  abruptly,  and  dashed  away,  not 
once  looking  back. 

When  I  came  up  mother  saw  me  wiping 
my  eyes,  but  she  made  no  comment.  The 
three  of  us  moved  along, — together,  and  yet 
apart,  followed  at  a  respectful  distance  by  a 
porter  carrying  my  grips.  The  station  was 
rather  crowded,  with  people  standing  in 
little  groups,  which  broke  up  inevitably  to 


12          BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

let  father  through.  What  was  it,  I  won- 
dered, that  thus  cleared  a  path  for  him,  as 
though  he  were  a  fire-engine  or  an  ambu- 
lance? I  hated  to  suspect  it  of  my  demo- 
cratic countrymen,  but  I  gathered  that  it  was 
the  "distinguished  foreigner"  impression  he 
produced. 

All  this  had  little  to  do  with  the  reunion 
of  a  family.  It  was  no  reunion — this  meeting 
of  three  people  who  had  nothing  to  say  to 
each  other  except  obvious  things  like  "Here 
is  the  motor,"  which  mother  now  said  as  a 
little  automobile  rolled  up. 

Its  wheel  was  in  the  hand  of  a  chauffeur 
unmistakably  French,  with  mustaches  as 
sensitive  as  the  whiskers  of  a  cat,  and  lynx 
eyes  that  indicated  an  order  of  intelligence 
too  high  for  such  a  simple  job  as  driving  a 
toy  machine. 

"New  chauffeur!"  I  commented.  "Oh, 
and  new  groom,  too!  How  terrifying!" 

At  school  the  same  old  darkies  were  fa- 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA          ij 

miliar  presences  to  generations  of  girls,  but 
mother  changed  her  servants  with  the  sea- 
sons, as  she  did  her  gowns.  An  uneasy  fear 
tormented  me  that  she  would  have  changed 
her  daughter,  too,  had  that  been  practicable. 
It  would  have  relieved  her  of  the  herculean 
task  of  making  a  silken  purse  out  of  a  sow's 
ear,  when  the  sow  was  likely  to  protest  at 
the  amputation.  I  fancied  her  discarding 
me  with  scant  compunction — a  last  year's 
daughter;  a  daughter  out  of  style;  one  not 
worth  the  trouble  and  expense  of  remodelling. 

"  Show  me  your  latest  thing  in  daughters," 
I  could  imagine  her  saying  in  her  somewhat 
languid  voice.  "No;  not  to  take  with  me. 
I  shall  have  her  made  to  order.  My  last 
daughter  I  got  ready-made,  and  she  was 
such  a  complete  failure  that  I  had  to  throw 
her  away." 

Whimsical  as  was  this  idea,  it  made  me 
seem  to  myself  even  more  of  an  alien  than  I 
should  otherwise  have  done  in  that  deli- 


14          BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

cately  upholstered  car,  my  well-worn  clothes 
brushing  the  luxurious  ones  on  each  side  as 
I  sat  down  uncomfortably  between  my  pa- 
rents upon  a  seat  obviously  designed  only 
for  two. 

I  felt  as  though  I  were  being  taken  some- 
where to  be  adopted  instead  of  to  my  own 
home,  and  that  the  first  thing  they  would 
do  when  they  got  me  there  would  be  to  order 
me  a  bath  and  provide  fresh  raiment. 

The  groom  adjusted  the  robe  and  asked: 

"Where  to,  madam  ?"  touching  his  cap. 

"Home,"  was  the  answer. 

"Yes,  madam,"  he  replied,  touching  his 
cap  again.  "Very  good,  madam,"  touching 
it  a  third  time. 

"And— James!" 

"Yes,  madam,"  with  another  touch. 

"Tell  Rene  not  to  drive  quite  so  fast  as 
he  did  on  the  way  down." 

"Very  good,  madam,"  with  still  another 
sign  of  deference. 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA          15 

I  had  begun  to  regard  this  frequent  ges- 
ture with  fascinated  eyes. 

"Don't  you  get  tired  of  being  treated  like 
royalty?"  I  questioned  flippantly  when  the 
door  had  snapped.  "I  should  be  bored  to 
death  by  having  a  man  like  that  about.'* 

"His  manners  are  excellent,"  returned 
father,  with  an  emphasis  which  was  clearly 
meant  to  reflect  on  mine;  and,  indeed,  the 
groom's  were  the  better  of  the  two. 

"It's  a  tiresome  trip  from  school  in  hot 
weather,"  mother  remarked  presently. 

"Yes,  mother,"  was  my  prompt  answer. 
"Quite,  mother." 

"Through  uninteresting  country,"  she  went 
on. 

"Yes,  mother,"  I  repeated.  "Very, 
mother." 

"Did  you  make  an  early  start?"  father 
inquired. 

"No,  father,"  I  replied  in  monotone. 
"Not  very  early,  father," 


16          BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

Conversation  languished.  At  length 
mother  tried  again. 

"Did  you  receive  a  letter  from  me  yes- 
terday," she  questioned,  "with  money  in 
it?" 

"Yes,  mother,"  I  said.  "Thank  you, 
mother." 

At  this,  with  one  accord,  they  drew  back. 

"Have  you  lost  your  mind?"  father  de- 
manded. "Or  are  you  making  fun  of  us?" 

I  laughed. 

"I  was  only  trying  an  experiment,"  I  ex- 
plained. "You  see,  I  have  such  difficulty 
with  my  manners,  and  his  kind  seemed  so 
simple,  I  hoped  an  adaptation  of  them  would 
work.  It  won't,  though.  It  seems  more  dif- 
ficult for  a  girl  to  give  satisfaction  than  for 
a  groom." 

"You  put  things  in  the  strangest  way," 
mother  objected.  "Why  do  you  talk  about 
giving  satisfaction,  as  though  you  were  a 
servant  ?  You,  the  daughter  of  the  house  !" 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA          17 

I  made  no  reply.  It  would  have  required 
some  thought  to  formulate  my  reasons  for 
the  remark;  and,  even  had  I  done  so,  my 
success  in  conveying  them  would  have  been 
problematical.  Theoretically  I  was  the 
daughter  of  the  house,  certainly;  but  prac- 
tically I  was  worse  off  than  the  groom,  who, 
if  his  efforts  to  please  did  not  meet  with  suc- 
cess would  be  dismissed,  and  thus  provided 
with  an  opportunity  to  try  his  luck  else- 
where. There  was  no  such  loophole  for  me. 
Satisfactory  or  not,  now  that  I  was  here, 
here  I  should  have  to  remain. 

How  was  I  to  fit  into  the  existence  of  which 
the  expensive  trifles  I  had  already  noted 
were  the  emblems  and  the  signs  ?  I  had  no 
notion  of  either  the  duties  or  the  perquisites 
of  my  position.  Instead  of  familiarizing  me 
with  them  gradually  during  my  adolescence 
— the  period  of  greatest  adaptability — mother 
had  abruptly  cut  me  off  at  its  start  from  my 
natural  surroundings  and  thrust  me  into 


1 8          BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

others  where  entirely  different  ideals  pre- 
vailed. 

Having  kept  me  for  four  years  out  of 
sight,  put  away  like  an  epileptic  or  a  lunatic, 
she  had  suddenly  brought  me  back  in  the 
expectation  that  I  would  feel  like  a  daugh- 
ter. 

I  didn't  feel  like  a  daughter.  I  didn't 
know  what  I  felt  like,  I'd  been  away  from 
home  so  long — ever  since  I  was  a  kid  of 
thirteen.  Now  I  was  almost  a  woman;  too 
old  to  go  to  school  any  more.  Every  sum- 
mer I'd  been  packed  off  to  camp,  and  the 
winter  and  spring  vacations  were  too  tem- 
porary to  make  much  impression. 

Just  then  we  passed  the  cathedral  and  my 
eyes  fell  upon  a  long  line  of  orphans  going 
in  to  some  service. 

That  was  it !  That  was  what  I  felt  like ! 
A  blue-garbed  Orphan,  with  a  capital  O — a 
Public  Charge — an  Institution  Child !  By  a 
quick  transition  my  thoughts  passed  from. 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA          19 

myself  to  mother.  If  I  had  had  no  mother, 
she  had  had  no  child.  During  my  long  exile 
she  had  remained  in  undisturbed  possession 
of  a  childless  house.  She  had  had  no  wil- 
fulness  to  encounter;  no  opposition;  no  in- 
terruptions; no  demands;  no  whispered  con- 
fessions; no  penitence;  no  confidences  in  the 
dark,  cheek  on  cheek. 

The  motherhood  that  was  the  kernel  of 
my  soul  revolted,  and  there  arose  within  me 
a  fierce  longing  for  a  little  child  of  my  own, 
that  I  might  make  up  to  it  all  that  we  had 
lost — she  and  I.  I  felt  that  I  should  never 
be  able  to  give  it  up  to  any  one,  even  at 
night.  When  I  woke  I  should  want  to  feel 
its  warm,  live,  marvellous  little  body  in  my 
arms;  press  it,  limp  and  unresponsive  as  it 
was,  against  my  breast.  It  would  grow  up 
then  without  my  knowing  it;  and  I  should 
grow  along  with  it,  because  I  would  have  to 
find  answers  to  the  questions  it  asked.  That 
would  be  much  less  disconcerting  than  re- 


20          BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

ceiving  it  back  from  somewhere,  full-grown, 
like  a  Venus  rising  out  of  the  waves. 

Poor  mother !  I  understood  a  little  now 
why  she  had  not  seemed  more  glad  to  see  me. 
My  absence  had  become  a  habit.  It  wasn't 
going  to  be  easy,  this  taking  up  of  mother- 
hood at  the  eleventh  hour.  She  had  omitted 
all  the  steps — the  settling  of  childish  diffi- 
culties, the  comforting  of  small  troubles 
easily  comforted.  As  she  sat  there  beside 
me,  so  calm,  so  dainty,  so  aloof,  she  seemed 
to  me  to  resemble  in  every  respect  a  woman 
who  had  never  either  desired  or  possessed  a 
child. 

"Where's  he  going?"  I  asked  suddenly, 
when  the  chauffeur  failed  to  slow  down  at 
the  accustomed  corner.  "Stop  him,  mother! 
He's  passed  the  street." 

"What  are  you  thinking  of,  Barbara?" 
she  returned.  "I  wrote  you  we'd  moved 
into  the  new  house." 

"Oh-h!"  I  gasped.    "The  new  house  ?    Of 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA          21 

course!  I'd  forgotten  all  about  it.  It  went 
completely  out  of  my  head." 

"We've  been  in  it  two  weeks,"  said 
father  as  we  slowed  down  before  an  imposing 
edifice,  which  upon  my  previous  views  of  it 
had  been  obstructed  by  scaffolding.  "That 
is  the  only  reason  we're  not  at  Westbury. 
Rotten  bore !  It's  practically  all  furnished." 

"All  furnished!"  I  repeated,  incredulous. 
"That  immense  house — in  two  weeks  ?  But 
you  had  a  lot  of  things,  of  course." 

"Very  little  that  was  suitable,"  he  replied. 

"My  furniture?"  I  insisted,  suspicious 
and  on  the  defensive.  "You  haven't  got 
rid  of  that?" 

"You'll  see,"  said  mother  evasively  as  we 
got  out. 

The  front  door  swung  inward,  revealing 
three  men,  one  in  afternoon  attire  and  two 
in  livery.  All  had  British  countenances,  en- 
tirely devoid  of  expression,  and  all  were  six 
feet  high.  These  strange,  imposing  servants 


22          BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

in  possession  of  a  strange,  imposing  house 
oppressed  my  spirit. 

"What's  become  of  Jules?"  I  whispered 
to  mother,  referring  to  our  erstwhile  French 
butler,  whose  wrinkled,  smiling  face  had 
welcomed  me  home  at  least  twice — at  Christ- 
mas and  at  Easter — and  who,  therefore,  in 
our  menage,  might  almost  have  been  re- 
garded as  a  family  servant. 

"I  couldn't  have  a  Frenchman  in  this 
house,"  she  replied. 

"But  you  have  one  on  your  car!"  I  de- 
murred, doubting  whether  I  should  ever 
master  these  distinctions.  It  was  apparently 
correct  to  employ  a  French  chauffeur.  A 
butler,  however,  must  be  English.  More- 
over, an  impressive  presence  was  a  require- 
ment. Not  being  very  tall  myself,  I  had  a 
fellow-feeling  for  those  who  did  not  measure 
up  to  standard,  and  determined  that  when  I 
had  a  house  I  would  employ  only  short  men. 

The  entrance-hall  was  spacious,  with  Caen- 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA          23 

stone  walls  and  a  floor  of  black  and  white 
marble  laid  in  squares. 

We  went  up  in  the  elevator  to  the  third 
landing  to  inspect  my  room  before  lunch. 

The  walls  of  this  room  were  panelled  in 
ivory;  the  furniture  was  ivory  and  cane; 
the  hangings  pale-rose  taffeta;  the  rug  of 
the  same  hue.  The  desk  was  supplied  with 
a  desk  set  of  pale-rose  leather,  tooled  in  dull 
gold,  and  the  crowning  touch  was  a  pale- 
rose  quill  pen,  thrust  into  a  pale-rose  re- 
ceptacle filled  with  white  shot. 

I  had  never  seen  white  shot  used  for  pur- 
poses of  ammunition,  and  wondered  where 
this  had  been  obtained. 

I  did  not  like  this  two-toned  room;  it 
cried  to  heaven  for  some  jarring  note — 
something  crashingly  purple,  orange,  or 
blue;  yet  my  heart  overflowed  in  apprecia- 
tion of  the  pains  mother  had  bestowed  upon 
it,  the  time  she  had  spent  in  carrying  out  the 
minutiae  of  the  scheme,  just  now,  when  she 


24          BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

was  so  busy  and  had  so  much  on  her  mind. 
Nothing  that  day  had  made  me  so  happy  as 
this,  and  I  threw  my  arms  round  her  neck, 
crying: 

"Oh,  mother  darling!  How  sweet  of 
you!" 

Her  next  words  chilled  me  to  the  bone. 

"I  felt  sure  you'd  be  pleased  with  it,"  she 
said.  "This  whole  room  was  on  exhibition, 
just  as  it  is,  in  every  detail,  even  to  the  pic- 
tures, at  the  Dartmour  Shops.  All  they  had 
to  do  was  to  move  it.  Luckily  even  the  cur- 
tains were  an  exact  fit." 

She  left,  telling  me  to  meet  her  in  her 
sitting-room  when  I  had  taken  off  my  things. 

While  I  was  standing  disconsolate  there 
was  a  muffled  knock  at  the  door.  I  opened 
it  and  found  that  my  grips  had  arrived  in 
the  hands  of  one  of  the  huge  footmen.  No 
sooner  had  he  left  than  I  ripped  open  the 
nearest  one,  scattered  its  contents  over  the 
floor,  and  rapidly  selected  what  I  wanted. 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA          25 

My  old  felt  slippers  went  under  the  bed, 
my  memory  book  on  the  table,  the  photo- 
graphs of  our  cheer  leaders  and  basket-ball 
teams  I  piled  on  the  desk — all  but  a  few  of 
the  choicest,  which  I  stuck  in  the  mirror  of 
the  dressing-table.  Then,  a  little  comforted, 
I  ran  down-stairs.  In  the  dining-room  the 
table  was  laid  for  two,  father  having  dis- 
appeared. 

It  was  a  very  large  dining-room  indeed, 
decorated  in  green  and  white  marble,  with  a 
stone  mantel  and  tapestried  chairs. 

"The  breakfast-room  isn't  finished  yet," 
mother  explained.  "We'll  always  lunch 
there  when  it  is." 

The  butler  stood  behind  mother's  chair, 
a  footman  behind  mine.  Acting  in  concert 
they  pulled  the  two  chairs  out  simultane- 
ously. I  sat  down,  my  feet  missing  the  floor 
by  half  an  inch. 

The  first  course  was  cold  eggs  in  aspic 
jelly,  with  a  herbaceous  border  encircling 


26          BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

the  dish.  I  partook  nervously,  not  only  of 
the  solids  but  of  the  party-colored  garnish- 
ings. 

"Have  you  got  a  new  cook?"  I  asked, 
detecting  an  unfamiliar  bite  at  the  tip  of  my 
tongue. 

"A  chef,"  she  replied,  "who  was  twelve 
years  at  Voisin's.  He's  an  expert  at  season- 
ing." 

The  second  course  roused  little  interest  in 
me,  as  the  eggs  had  more  than  satisfied  my 
appetite.  It  consisted  of  small  round  filets, 
each  with  a  mushroom  on  top  and,  under- 
neath, a  layer  of  artichoke  resting  upon  a 
foundation  of  toast.  I  took  one  perfunc- 
torily, and  also  a  spoonful  of  very  black, 
thick  sauce.  Salad  followed;  and  we  had 
for  dessert  ice-cream,  together  with  straw- 
berries almost  as  big  as  plums.  At  least 
that  was  the  way  they  felt  when  I  swallowed 
them. 

Coffee  was  served  in  mother's  sitting-room 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA          27 

by  the  butler,  the  first  footman  immediately 
following  him  with  liqueurs  on  a  tray.  We 
declined  both  and  they  marched  out  again. 

"I've  ordered  the  car  at  three,"  mother 
announced. 

"Must  we  go  out  ?"  I  asked,  lolling  in  an 
easy  chair.  "I  feel  as  though  I  didn't  want 
to  move  after  that  lunch." 

Her  eyes  rested  upon  me  in  disapproval. 

"You  must  learn  not  to  eat  everything," 
she  said.  "I  don't.  If  you  noticed,  all  I 
took  to-day  was  an  egg,  some  green  peas,  and 
a  strawberry  or  two." 

"What  do  you  have  it  all  cooked  for, 
then?"  I  questioned.  "Isn't  it  a  waste?" 

"Oh,  no,"  returned  mother  vaguely. 
"Fran9ois  doesn't  waste  anything.  He 
makes  use  of  it  in  some  way,  of  course." 

"Where  are  we  going  at  three?"  I  re- 
sumed. 

"To  get  you  some  clothes,"  she  replied 
with  decision. 


28          BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

I  had  not  been  mistaken,  then,  in  my  con- 
jecture as  to  raiment. 

"What's  the  matter  with  those  I've  got 
on?"  I  demanded,  in  sudden  reluctance  to 
part  with  the  rough  garments  that  had 
adapted  themselves  to  my  casual  lines,  and 
the  discarding  of  which  would  mark  the  end 
of  an  epoch. 

"They're  unsuitable,"  she  decreed.  "They 
were  all  very  well  for  a  schoolgirl,  but  you're 
not  a  schoolgirl  now.  Go  and  put  on  your 
hat." 

As  we  crawled  down  Fifth  Avenue,  in  a 
line  three  deep  of  other  motors  bent  on  simi- 
lar errands,  I  remarked  that  we  should  never 
get  to  Rosenberg  &  Hymen's  at  this  rate. 

"We're  not  going  there,"  mother  en- 
lightened me.  "I  shall  not  dress  you  at  the 
department  stores  any  longer.  We'll  see 
whether  Yvette  has  anything." 

Yvette  had  a  great  many  things.  Her 
dressmaking  establishment,  which  special- 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA          29 

ized  in  girl's  frocks,  was  carried  on  in  a  large 
corner  house  built  not  five  years  before  as  a 
private  residence,  and  hastily  vacated,  as 
such  houses  often  are  in  New  York — why, 
nobody  knew. 

Yvette  herself  failed  to  appear,  but  in  her 
absence  the  gowns  were  displayed  by  a  Miss 
Hawkins,  who  seemed  to  be  a  person  of 
authority,  and  a  smiling  assistant  to  whom 
money  was  no  object. 

"This  is  only  a  hundred  and  fifty  dollars," 
she  would  say,  holding  up  an  exquisite, 
flower-like  dress,  thrown  together  out  of 
nothing  more  durable  than  net  and  tulle. 
"That  blue  chiffon  with  the  silver  embroi- 
dery is  two  twenty-five;  but  look  at  the  lines 
of  it!" 

These  figures  made  my  brain  reel.  Up  to 
this  time,  while  a  girl  at  school,  eighteen 
fifty  had  been  the  highest  price  paid  at 
Rosenberg's  for  my  "best"  dresses.  My 
shirt-waists  I  had  been  allowed  to  choose 


30          BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

myself  at  Tracy's,  for  sums  ranging  from 
$1.49  to  $4.75,  articles  of  striped  and  zig- 
zagged patterns,  in  which  my  soul  had  re- 
joiced. At  home  I  had  always  had  my 
supper  apart  on  a  tray,  and  at  school  my 
wardrobe  had  stood  up  well  beside  those  of 
the  other  girls. 

"How  do  you  like  the  blue,  Barbara?" 
mother  asked  indifferently.  "Don't  you 
think  it's  rather  pretty  ?  I  think  I  shall 
have  my  daughter  try  the  blue  one  on,  Miss 
Hawkins." 

I  went  over  to  her  and  whispered  tensely 
in  her  ear. 

"Two  hundred  and  twenty-five  dollars  for 
that  dress  is  robbery,  mother!"  I  said. 
"Don't  buy  it!  Please,  don't!  Suppose  I 
should  get  a  spot  on  it!  Let's  go  back  to 
Rosenberg's.  They've  got  lovely  things ! 
Really  they  have,  when  you  get  extra  lace 
to  fill  them  in!  I'm  not  out;  I  don't  need 
such  a  beautiful  dress  as  that." 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA          31 

"Yes;  you  do,"  she  returned  placidly. 
"You  forget  that  you're  coming  down  to  all 
my  informal  dinners  after  this.  Could  we 
have  this  dress  for  to-night,  Miss  Haw- 
kins?" 

At  Rosenberg's  alterations  inevitably  took 
ten  days;  so  I  was  astonished  when  Miss 
Hawkins  acquiesced  suavely: 

"If  there's  not  too  much  to  do,  madam; 
certainly  I'll  hurry  it  through  for  you !  The 
alterations,  of  course,  will  be  extra — I  can't 
tell  how  much  until  I  see  just  what  there  is 
to  be  done." 

While  two  efficient  young  women  were 
pinning  and  snipping  at  me  together,  mother 
ordered  more  dresses  and  arranged  for  ap- 
pointments late  in  the  week.  As  we  were 
leaving  the  establishment  I  reminded  her 
that  she  had  forgotten  to  ask  anything  more 
about  the  cost  of  the  alterations. 

"Twenty-five  dollars,"  said  Miss  Hawkins 
offhand.  "The  young  lady  seems  to  be  very 


32          BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

economical;  so  different  from  most  of  the 
young  ladies  nowadays.  How  nice  that  is!" 

Her  tone  was  bland,  but  her  glance  at  me 
was  inimical  as  she  bowed  us  out. 

On  our  way  home  I  maintained  silence  for 
at  least  two  blocks.  Then  I  burst  out: 

"It's  wicked  to  charge  twenty-five  dollars 
for  those  alterations !  Why,  mother,  there 
was  hardly  anything  to  do!  Just  a  little 
redraping  in  the  back  and  putting  in  some 
tulle — about  a  dollar's  worth,  I  should  think. 
It  could  have  been  done  just  as  well  in  the 
house." 

"Not  in  time  for  to-night,"  rejoined 
mother  easily.  "Why  do  you  worry  so, 
Barbara  ?  You're  not  paying  for  it." 

We  had  tea,  served  by  most  of  the  men; 
and  when  I  went  up  to  my  room  there  was 
the  gayly  striped  box  that  held  my  dress. 

I  had  no  desire  to  open  it.  The  extrava- 
gance I  had  seen  displayed  that  day  sick- 
ened me.  More  food  than  you  could  eat; 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA          33 

better  clothes  than  you  needed  to  wear;  a 
servant  at  every  door  and  behind  every  chair 
— I  was  weary  of  it  already,  weary  and  de- 
pressed. What  was  the  object  of  this  con- 
tinual outpouring  of  money  for  that  which 
was  not  bread  ? 

One  little  pincushion  of  mother's  choosing 
would  have  meant  more  to  me  than  the 
whole  room  she  had  bought  with  a  price, 
and  a  single  kiss  of  real  welcome  I  should 
have  prized  above  all  the  finery  in  the 
world. 

"You  must  learn  how  to  wear  your  clothes, 
Barbara,"  she  admonished  me  as  we  went 
down-stairs  together  at  five  minutes  to 
eight.  "You  can't  move  about  in  an  even- 
ing gown  as  though  you  were  swinging 
clubs." 

I  restrained  my  movements  obediently. 

As  we  passed  the  heavily  wainscoted  room 
known  as  father's  "Study,"  through  the  open 
door  I  glimpsed  the  butler  deigning  to  occupy 


34          BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

his  leisure  moments  in  altering  by  the  frac- 
tion of  an  inch  the  positions  of  the  magazines 
on  the  Italian  table. 

"You  haven't  told  me  yet  who's  coming," 
I  said  in  the  drawing-room.  "How  many  are 
there?" 

"Ten  in  all,"  mother  answered.  "Mrs. 
Apthorp-Brown;  the  Glynn  Rollinses,  who 
are  motoring  in  from  Westbury;  Miss  Bolles, 
a  most  charming  woman;  Mr.  Emery  Win- 
ship,  an  old  friend  of  ours;  another  man  who 
is  staying  with  him,  whose  name  I  forget; 
and  Allan  Denning." 

From  her  omission  of  data  concerning 
them,  no  less  than  from  a  certain  slight  ac- 
centuation of  tone  upon  their  names,  I 
inferred  that  the  Alpha  and  Omega  of  the 
evening  were  Mrs.  Apthorp-Brown  and  Allan 
Denning.  Of  Mr.  Winship's  privilege  I  was 
jealous;  mother  accepted  his  friend — why 
had  she  not  accepted  mine  ? 

"Tell   me   about   the   nameless   man,"   I 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA          35 

demanded.  "What's  he  like?  Old  or 
young?" 

"I  don't  remember,"  she  replied.  "He 
does  something,  I  believe." 

"Stocks?"  I  suggested,  out  of  sheer  hos- 
tility. 

"No;  not  stocks,"  she  returned.  "Writ- 
ing or  painting — something  of  that  sort." 

"Oh !"  I  cried,  mollified.  "I'm  so  glad  it 
isn't  stocks.  I  don't  think  I  should  like 
stock-brokers.  What  does  Mr.  Denning  do  ?" 

Mother  drew  back. 

"Nothing!"  she  hastened  to  answer,  as 
though  she  were  denying  a  malicious  allega- 
tion. "I've  put  you  beside  him,  Barbara,  and 
I  do  hope  you  won't  ask  impertinent  ques- 
tions or  use  slang.  Let  him  do  the  talking. 
He's  a  man  of  the  world  and  can  talk  to 
anybody.  It's  just  luck  that  he  happens  to 
be  in  town.  In  the  season  he's  almost  im- 
possible to  get.  I  wonder  where  your  father 
is?" 


36          BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

No  sooner  had  she  spoken  than  my  father 
came  in. 

How  faultlessly  erect  was  his  bearing,  not- 
withstanding his  height,  and  how  aquiline 
his  nose !  Somehow  I  felt  responsible  for  his 
entertainment;  impelled  to  rise  from  my 
chair  and  engage  him  in  conversation.  He 
seemed  so  much  more  guest  than  host,  so 
much  less  father  than  acquaintance. 

"Mrs.  Apthorp-Brown!"  announced  the 
butler  at  this  point,  and  I  saw  him  licking 
his  lips  as  he  withdrew. 

The  old  woman  who  entered  did  not  look 
the  part  assigned  her.  I  wanted  to  cover  up 
her  poor  neck  with  a  little  woolly  shawl. 
There  was  nothing  on  it  but  jewels — not 
even  flesh. 

"How  do  you  do?"  she  said,  with  no 
question  in  her  voice,  when  mother  presented 
me. 

Perhaps  she  thought  I  ought  not  to  be 
there.  At  any  rate,  she  did  not  notice  me 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA          37 

further.  The  Glynn  Rollinses  came  in  next; 
and,  mother  having  left  them  to  me,  I  at- 
tempted conversation  with  diminished  con- 
fidence, which  they  took  no  steps  to  restore. 
On  the  advent  of  Miss  Bolles,  a  dried-up 
spinster  with  dyed  hair  and  an  enamelled 
neck,  whom  they  greeted  effusively,  they 
turned  their  backs  upon  me  altogether,  and 
I  retreated,  to  stand  propped  against  the 
panelling,  examining  my  slippers  and  feeling 
very  small. 

"Mr.  Winship!"  I  heard;  and  then: 
"Mr.  R-m-m " 

Oh,  that  butler!  He  had  botched  the 
name  on  purpose.  The  appellations  of 
those  who,  according  to  his  standards,  were 
something,  he  rolled  as  sweet  morsels  un- 
der his  tongue;  but  with  that  of  him  who 
merely  did  something  he  gave  himself  no 
concern.  Yet  it  was  only  the  attitude  of 
his  employers  that  was  reflected  in  the 
cloudy  mirror  of  his  mind. 


38          BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

Then  and  there  I  resolved  that,  as  I  had 
wished  Miss  Wier  to  be  welcomed,  so  hence- 
forth should  every  man,  woman,  or  child  who 
set  foot  upon  our  threshold  be  welcomed 
here.  Eager  to  act  upon  this  determina- 
tion, I  noticed  that  the  young  man,  having 
been  briefly  greeted  by  his  hostess,  was  now 
standing  by  himself,  perceptibly  ill  at  ease. 
He  was  of  medium  height,  lithe  of  body, 
alert  of  glance,  and  his  awkwardness  at  the 
moment  was  due,  I  felt,  not  to  any  lack  of 
poise  but  to  a  peculiar  sensitiveness  to  the 
atmosphere  of  this  gathering. 

I  crossed  the  room  and  went  up  to  him. 

"We  were  delighted  that  you  could 
come,"  I  said,  holding  out  my  hand. 

He  took  it  warmly  and  his  every  muscle 
relaxed. 

"That's  awfully  good  of  you,"  he  re- 
sponded. "I  was  afraid  my  coming  was 
rather  an  imposition.  But  it's  all  right  if 
you  say  so." 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA          39 

Further  standing  about  ensued.  Pres- 
ently mother  rang  a  bell  and  I  heard  her 
say  to  the  butler: 

"We  won't  wait  any  longer  for  Mr. 
Denning,  Parker.  Telephone  to  his  rooms 
and  bring  the  cocktails  at  once." 

Because  this  guest  had  not  come,  every- 
body save  Mrs.  Apthorp-Brown,  who  was 
duly  escorted  by  father,  had  to  walk  in 
"informally."  Mr.  Denning  had  not  for- 
gotten, it  appeared.  He  was  merely  half  an 
hour  late  and  came  in  entirely  unruffled  be- 
fore we  had  finished  our  soup. 

How  graciously  mother  accepted  the 
apologies  of  this  drawing-room  favorite! 
He  was  distinctly  handsome,  with  crisp, 
backward-curling  hair,  white  forehead  and 
regular  features,  marred  only  by  a  slight 
puffiness  under  the  eyes  and  an  incipient 
heaviness  just  above  the  collar. 

"Mr.  Denning,"  said  mother,  as  the  but- 
ler pulled  out  the  vacant  chair  on  my  right, 


40          BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

"this  is  my  little  daughter,  just  back  from 
boarding-school.  She's  come  down  to  din- 
ner for  a  great  treat,  because  it's  her  first 
evening  at  home." 

Such  an  introduction  would  have  caused 
me  inexpressible  embarrassment  an  hour 
ago;  but  I  had  taken  the  initiative  once 
since  then  and  felt  capable  of  doing  so 
again. 

"We  came  near  not  having  anything  to 
eat  on  your  account,"  I  told  him. 

"How's  that?"  he  asked,  smiling  and 
sitting  down. 

"The  Bible  says,"  I  explained,  "'Give  a 
portion  to  seven,  and  also  to  eight.'  Mother 
is  willing  to  give  it  to  eight,  but  not  to  seven. 
Did  you  forget  ?  Oh,  never  mind — don't 
answer." 

"Why  not?"  he  demanded. 

"Because  I  was  not  to  ask  you  imperti- 
nent questions,"  was  my  reply.  "You  were 
to  introduce  the  subjects  of  conversation. 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA         41 

You're  a  man  of  the  world  and  can  talk  to 
anybody — even  me." 

"Ask  me  anything  you  like,"  he  invited, 
bending  his  well-shaped  head  quite  close, 
"and  I'll  give  you  a  straight  answer." 

"How  were  the  races  on  Saturday?'* 
broke  in  Mrs.  Glynn  Rollins,  in  her  high, 
strained  voice. 

"Dull,"  he  replied  laconically,  and  turned 
again  to  me.  "I've  had  one  dinner  already," 
he  confided.  "This  one  went  clean  out  of 
my  head.  I  had  to  lie  out  of  it,  didn't  I  ? 
Of  course  you  won't  give  me  away." 

Thus,  at  the  outset  of  our  acquaintance, 
by  just  being  myself,  as  mother  had  warned 
me  against  doing,  I  had  "hit  it  off"  with 
this  overrated  but,  I  thought,  essentially 
unpretentious  young  man.  And,  of  course, 
it  was  amusing  to  note  the  icy  regard  of 
Mrs.  Glynn  Rollins  at  the  shoulder  he  kept 
persistently  turned  in  her  direction. 

"Who's    that    chap    on    your    left?"    he 


42          BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

asked,  sotto  voce,  with  a  full  stare  at  Mr. 
Winship's  protege.  "I  don't  remember  hav- 
ing seen  him  anywhere  before." 

"Is  that  any  reason  for  looking  at  him  as 
though  he  were  some  strange  species  of 
animal?"  I  demanded.  "What  are  dinners 
for,  if  not  to  meet  new  people  ?  I  should 
think  just  seeing  the  old  ones  over  and  over 
would  be  an  awful  bore." 

He  smiled,  refusing  to  take  up  my  chal- 
lenge. His  complacence  rather  nettled  me. 

"You  haven't  answered  my  question," 
he  said. 

"I  don't  know  yet  who  he  is,"  I  replied. 
"All  I  know  is  that  Mr.  Winship  brought 
him,  and  that  he  does  something.  When 
he's  finished  talking  with  Miss  Bolles  I'm 
going  to  ask  him  what.  I  don't  think  it'll 
be  long;  he  doesn't  seem  to  be  getting  on 
particularly  well." 

My  neighbor  was,  in  fact,  playing  with 
his  bread  between  pauses  of  unconscionable 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA          43 

length,  crumbling  it  up  shockingly  with  the 
most  nervous,  delicate  hand  I  had  ever 
seen. 

"What  do  you  do  ?"  I  finally  came  to  his 
rescue  by  asking. 

"Paint,"  he  replied,  turning  upon  me 
that  alert  glance.  "What  do  you?" 

"What  do  I  look  like  a  girl  that  could 
do?"  I  retorted. 

"That's  a  wonderful  sentence!"  he 
laughed.  "Let's  translate  it  into  English." 

The  play  of  expression  on  his  face  as  he 
talked  was  astounding.  In  three  minutes  it 
had  passed  from  seriousness  to  inquiry,  and 
now  it  was  all  broken  up  into  fun. 

"What,"  I  complied,  "does  a  girl  who 
looks  as  I  do  look  as  though  she  could  do  ?" 

He  paused,  and  I  felt  myself  flushing 
under  a  scrutiny  that  was  yet  in  no  sense  a 
stare. 

"Anything,"  he  affirmed  quietly.  "Every- 
thing." 


44          BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

"I'd  like  to  paint,"  I  was  moved  to  con- 
fess. 

"Have  you  studied  drawing?"  he  asked. 

"We  had  it,"  I  replied  connotatively. 

"That's  a  different  matter,"  he  smiled.' 

I  smiled  back.  He  looked  altogether  boy- 
ish when  he  smiled. 

"I've  finished  now,"  I  enlightened  him. 

"Finished  what?"  he  cried.  "Not  draw- 
ing!" 

"No,"  I  returned.    "School." 

"What  next?"  he  continued. 

"Oh,  next  ?  The  world,  the  flesh,  and 
the  devil.  But  I'm  not  ready  for  those  yet. 
It's  going  to  take  a  year  to  break  me  in." 

"By  what  means?"  he  demanded. 

I  hesitated.  Following  my  eyes  he  no- 
ticed their  stare  at  the  platter  which  was 
at  that  moment  being  brought  in.  Upon  it 
was  offered  salmon,  counterfeiting  lobster — 
pop-eyes,  feelers,  and  all. 

"See   that   wolf  in  sheep's   clothing?"   I 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA          45 

said,  nodding  toward  the  triumph  of  culi- 
nary skill.  "That's  what  they  intend  to  do 
with  me." 

"What  an  outrage!"  he  said  in  a  voice 
that  was  capable  of  as  many  gradations  of 
expression  as  his  face.  It  deepened  by  sev- 
eral tones  as  he  added:  "Don't  let  them! 
Please  don't!" 

"That's  curious,"  I  returned  gravely. 
"Yours  is  the  second  warning  I've  had  to- 
day. The  first  was  from  another  friend  of 
mine — my  teacher,  Miss  Wier.  'I  hope  noth- 
ing will  spoil  you,'  she  said.  I  didn't  under- 
stand what  she  meant,  but  I  think  I'm  be- 
ginning to " 

As  I  spoke  my  gaze  swept  the  table,  and 
his  followed  mine  as  he  said,  very  low: 

"I'm  glad  you  include  me  among  your 
friends." 

Allan  Denning  was  doing  better  now  by 
Mrs.  Glynn  Rollins,  having  several  times 
emptied  his  glass  of  champagne.  She  was 


46          BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

saying  something  to  him  behind  her  fan 
and  I  heard  him  laugh  rather  coarsely. 

Father  was  absorbed  in  endeavoring  to 
hold  Mrs.  Apthorp-Brown's  attention  long 
enough  to  admit  of  his  recounting  to  her  an 
anecdote.  The  wandering  of  her  eye  failed 
to  discourage  him  in  this  attempt.  He 
talked  more  to  her  in  five  minutes  than  he 
had  talked  to  me  in  five  years. 

Worried  at  her  failure  to  swing  the  con- 
versation from  right  to  left  at  the  exact 
moment  of  the  entry  of  the  roast,  mother 
observed  in  dismay  that  Miss  Bolles  on  one 
side  and  Mr.  Glynn  Rollins  on  the  other 
were  left  without  any  one  to  talk  to;  her 
relief  was  evident  when  they  leaned  for- 
ward across  the  table  and  began  to  talk  to 
each  other.  Miss  Bolles  chattered  like  a 
magpie,  now  that  she  had  reverted  to  some 
one  who  spoke  her  language,  her  talk  con- 
sisting mostly  of  references  to  "Kittie," 
"Birdie,"  "Larry,"  "Dick,"  and  other  fa- 
miliars. 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA          47 

With  the  exception  of  Allan  Denning, 
nobody  drank  anything  to  speak  of;  yet 
corks  popped  one  after  another  behind  the 
pantry  screen  until  I  had  counted  six  small 
explosions.  As  the  butler  passed  me  the 
salad  he  blew  down  my  neck,  and  my  fas- 
tidious nostrils  detected  an  odor  that  be- 
trayed the  whereabouts  of  some  of  the  cham- 
pagne. 

The  night  was  stifling.  In  spite  of  the 
size  of  the  room  it  smelt  sickeningly  of  rich, 
heavy  food.  After  a  varied  and  exciting 
day  I  grew  suddenly  dizzy;  and  for  several 
seconds  the  buzz  of  strident  talk  and  shrill 
laughter  sounded  alternately  far  off  and 
ear-splittingly  near.  The  faintness  passed, 
leaving  me  with  a  frown  between  my  brows 
and  a  splitting  headache.  I  felt  that  I  could 
not  endure  another  moment  of  this  confu- 
sion of  sound. 

The  hubbub  amid  which  we  ate  at  school 
had  never  bothered  me.  It  was  as  spontane- 
ous as  the  twittering  of  birds  in  an  aviary. 


48          BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

This  was  of  a  different  quality — noise  with- 
out gayety;  laughter  without  mirth;  me- 
chanical, self-conscious,  and  forced.  When 
at  last  we  got  up,  the  only  thing  that  kept 
me  from  making  my  escape  to  bed  was  the 
prospect  of  seeing  my  new  friend  for  a  few 
moments  more  at  the  end  of  the  evening. 

The  men  stayed  out  a  long  time.  In  their 
absence  mother  "took  on"  Mrs.  Apthorp- 
Brown,  who,  I  had  observed,  neither  listened 
to  what  was  said  to  her  nor  said  anything 
herself.  Miss  Bolles  and  Mrs.  Glynn  Rol- 
lins went  off  together  to  sit  on  a  sofa  in  a 
remote  corner,  where  they  conversed,  over 
cigarettes,  in  tones  inaudible  to  the  rest. 
Even  their  smoking  they  did  not  seem  to  be 
able  to  do  without  making  anything  of  it, 
but  poised  their  elbows  in  graceful  attitudes 
and  puffed  out  the  smoke  ostentatiously 
through  pouting  lips. 

The  only  book  in  the  drawing-room  was 
an  unwieldy  one,  with  a  parchment  cover, 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA          49 

marked  "Roma";  so  I  settled  myself  in  a 
fairly  comfortable  bergere  with  that,  and 
was  soon  absorbed  in  the  photographs  of 
art  treasures  it  contained.  They  roused  my 
yearning  to  travel,  to  learn,  to  absorb. 

"Yes,"  I  heard  mother  saying  as  I  turned 
over  a  page;  "it  came  near  being  a  bad 
accident.  His  horse  refused,  and  he  went 
off,  striking  the  back  of  his  head.  Luckily 
he  was  only  stunned." 

I  returned  to  my  photographs,  puzzled. 
Couldn't  they — who  had  travelled  and  had 
countless  other  opportunities — find  any- 
thing better  to  talk  about  than  the  spill  of 
an  acquaintance  during  a  game  of  polo,  the 
merest  incident,  a  thing  of  no  consequence 
to  anybody  ?  When  I  heard  the  men  ap- 
proaching to  rejoin  us  my  heart  thumped 
agreeably. 

To  my  disappointment  it  was  Allan 
Denning  who  sought  me  out.  He  was  very 
nice  and  said  a  good  deal  about  seeing  me 


50          BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

at  Newport,  but  I  could  not  forgive  him  for 
not  being  somebody  else.  That  somebody 
else  was  valiantly  talking  to  mother;  out 
of  the  corners  of  my  eyes  I  could  see  how 
embarrassed  he  was. 

Presently  Mrs.  Apthorp-Brown  arose  ma- 
jestically; there  was  no  clock  in  the  room, 
but  she  apparently  knew  by  instinct  that  it 
was  half  past  ten. 

At  the  door  we  found  each  other  again — 
I  and  my  new-made  friend — and  stood 
without  speaking  for  several  seconds,  he 
looking  down,  I  looking  up;  my  hand  in  his. 

"Won't  you  come  to  my  studio,"  he 
asked  eagerly  then,  "and  see  some  of  my 
work  ?  I'm  just  moving — that's  why  Mr. 
Winship's  taken  me  in." 

"I'd  love  to!"  I  replied  with  enthusiasm. 

"When  will  you  come  ?"  he  went  on. 

"I'll  come  on  Thursday,"  I  specified,  "at 
three.  We're  going  away  next  week." 

"Bully!"  he  cried,  and  gave  the  address. 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA          51 

"You've  forgotten  one  thing,"  I  reminded 
him. 

"What's  that?"  he  asked. 

"To  tell  me  your  name,"  I  smiled.  "It 
might  be  convenient  for  me  to  know  it." 

He  laughed. 

"Randall,"  he  said;  "John  Randall.  Don't 
forget.  Thursday,  at  three !  Good  night." 

"Oh,  mother!"  I  cried,  when  everybody 
had  gone.  "Isn't  he  wonderful?" 

She  regarded  me  curiously;  and  I  de- 
tected an  increase  of  consideration  in  her 
manner  when  she  said: 

"You  got  on  with  him  surprisingly 
well." 

"Any  one  could  get  on  with  him,"  I  re- 
plied. 

"Most  people  do,"  she  assented.  "He 
knows  everybody  and  goes  everywhere.  He's 
at  every  performance  of  the  opera,  every 
dance,  every  musicale.  He's  engaged  months 
ahead  for  week-ends.  Still,  I  hope  to  get 


52          BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

him  to  spend  a  Sunday  with  us  at  Westbury 
in  September." 

During  the  foregoing  my  eyes  had  widened 
in  dismay. 

"Mother,"  I  said  solemnly  when  she 
paused,  "I  hate  to  tell  you,  but  we're  not 
talking  about  the  same  man." 

Instantly  she  stiffened. 

"To  whom  did  you  refer?"  she  asked 
coldly. 

"To  Mr.  Randall,"  I  replied,  wondering. 
"I'm  going  to  his  studio  on  Thursday." 

"Girls  of  seventeen  don't  go  to  artists' 
studios,"  she  said  in  an  icy  tone.  "You're 
a  child  and  can't  be  expected  to  understand 
such  things;  but  that  he  should  ask  it 
proves  conclusively  that  he's  not  a  gentle- 
man. He  was  taking  advantage  of  your 
inexperience — that's  all.  I  shall  never  ask 
him  inside  this  house  again." 

I  felt  myself  turning  still  and  white. 

"He    didn't    know   you'd    feel    that   way 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA          53 

about  it,"  I  said  slowly,  "any  more  than  I 
did.  Perhaps  he  isn't  a  gentleman — in  your 
sense.  But  I  don't  care,  because  I'm  not  a 
lady.  Goodnight!" 

Half  an  hour  later  I  was  lying  in  my  bed 
in  the  dark,  limbs  still  rigid,  eyes  staring  at 
nothingness.  Little  by  little  I  relaxed — 
first  my  fists,  then  my  legs  and  arms,  then 
my  eyelids;  finally  I  was  all  a  little  limp 
heap,  and  then  I  began  to  sob  as  though  my 
heart  would  break. 

Nothing  mattered  if  only  your  mother 
was  real.  What  was  the  use  of  living  if  she 
wasn't  ?  What  joy  would  there  be  in  loving 
if  you  couldn't  confess  your  love  with  your 
face  hidden  on  her  breast  ?  Oh,  how  I  had 
cried  for  my  mother  during  sleepless  hours, 
night  after  night,  year  after  year,  at  school ! 
In  the  morning  my  pillow  had  been  all 
soaked  with  tears  and  I  had  put  it  on  the 
window-sill  to  dry,  so  that  no  one  might  see. 

From  the  day  of  my  birth  to  this  day  I 


54          BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

had  had  a  succession  of  mothers,  but  no 
mother !  The  trained  nurse  had  been  the 
first  to  mother  me;  then,  oh,  happy  years  ! 
had  come  my  Irish  Jane,  with  all  the  mother- 
hood of  all  the  ages  reflected  in  the  blue 
pools  of  her  eyes,  and  all  the  tenderness 
of  the  Mother  of  God  in  her  awkward  red 
hands.  Then,  because  poor  Jane  had  only 
the  halting  vehicle  of  her  own  brogue  in 
which  to  give  broken  expression  to  the 
wealth  of  her  soul,  foreign  governesses  had 
succeeded;  and  finally,  their  variety  of 
motherhood  not  being  entirely  adapted  to 
the  requirements  of  the  situation — imagine 
Uncle  Remus  rendered  with  French  or  Ger- 
man accent ! — had  ensued  the  varied  an- 
gularities of  the  patient,  reserved,  devoted 
mothers  at  school. 

It  was  too  much  to  expect  of  these  un- 
worldly women,  spinster  school-teachers  from 
small  towns,  to  turn  me  out  a  finished  prod- 
uct, fitted  to  shine  in  metropolitan  draw- 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA          55 

ing-rooms !  No  one  could  have  made  a 
society  woman  of  me  but  mother  herself. 
Was  it  my  fault  that  I  had  come  back  to  her 
with  ideals  opposed  to  hers — that  our  stand- 
ards were  as  wide  apart  as  the  poles  ? 

Only  love  could  have  wrought  the  miracle 
— bridged  the  chasm.  Did  my  mother  love 
me  ?  It  was  a  terrible  question  to  arise  in  a 
young  heart. 

Oh,  how  I  wanted  her  love !  It  was  my 
natural  right !  I  must  have  it,  for  I  was 
bone  of  her  bone,  flesh  of  her  flesh  ! 

Far  away,  in  a  room  as  safe  from  intru- 
sion as  a  fortress,  she  little  guessed  into 
what  depths  of  anguished  longing  my  re- 
sentment was  breaking  up.  The  starvation 
of  the  starved  years  was  as  nothing  to  the 
starvation  of  to-night. 

My  mother  was  in  the  same  house  with  me 
— and  yet  I  was  alone ! 


II 

UPON  the  following  morning  I  woke 
with  a  quivering  sigh  and  that  lassi- 
tude of  spirit  which  follows  keen  emotion. 
Not  only  did  I  feel  that  mother  and  I  should 
never  understand  each  other,  but  I  didn't 
care  much  whether  I  ever  saw  John  Randall 
again  or  not. 

When  the  maid  tapped  at  the  door  with  a 
summons  to  go  at  once  to  mother's  room,  I 
knew  what  that  summons  portended.  The 
subject  of  our  disagreement  of  the  evening 
before  was  to  be  reopened  and  the  pros  and 
cons'  of  the  discussion  rehashed. 

I  found  mother,  semidressed,  in  the  setting 
appropriate  to  such  mid-morning  attire — 
her  boudoir.  But  under  the  shimmering 
folds  of  her  negligee  her  whole  figure  was 

taut  with  determination. 
56 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA          57 

"Barbara,"  she  began,  "have  you  notified 
that  young  man  who  was  here  last  night 
that  he's  not  to  expect  you  at  his  studio  on 
Thursday?" 

"No,"  I  said;  "I  haven't  done  anything 
about  it.  Why  should  you  call  him  'that 
young  man,'  mother — as  though  you  didn't 
know  him  ?" 

"Because  I  don't  intend  to  know  him," 
she  returned,  "except  in  the  most  general 
way.  He's  forfeited  his  right  to  anything 
more  by  presuming  to  invite  you,  a  mere 
child,  to  come  to  his  studio — a  thing  that's 
unheard  of !  The  effrontery  of  it !  No 
sooner  had  he  managed  to  get  himself  asked 
to  my  house  than  he  seized  his  opportunity, 
through  an  introduction  to  you,  to  try  and 
break  into  society." 

"Now,  mother!"  I  smiled.  "As  though  / 
could  help  any  one  socially!  Why,  you 
yourself  say  I  don't  know  how  to  stand,  or 
walk,  or  behave,  or  wear  my  clothes !" 


58          BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

"Nevertheless,"  she  replied,  "you  are  my 
daughter." 

So  might  the  Czar  of  Russia  have  spoken 
in  referring  to  the  czarevitch.  It  was  diffi- 
cult for  me  to  get  her  point  of  view  as  I 
watched  her  sitting  there,  so  attractive,  her 
glossy  hair  full  of  high  lights,  her  rounded 
arm,  delicately  tapering  at  the  wrist,  lying 
along  the  arm  of  the  chair.  She  would  have 
died  rather  than  say,  "I  am  a  pretty  woman"; 
yet  she  had  not  the  smallest  hesitation  in 
declaring:  "I  am  It!"  Hers  was  an  arro- 
gance not  of  person  but  of  place. 

"Have  you  thought,"  I  suggested,  "that 
maybe  he  doesn't  want  to  get  in  ?  Perhaps 
he  wouldn't  care  about  it.  He's  pretty  busy 
painting,  you  know." 

"That's  utterly  absurd,"  she  retorted. 
"Of  course  he  wants  it!  Everybody  does 
who  hasn't  got  it,  in  every  country  of  the 
world.  What  do  you  suppose  the  nouveaux 
riches  in  America  give  lavish  entertainments 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA          59 

for  if  not  for  that  ?  If  they're  impossible 
themselves  they  try  to  buy  social  position 
for  their  sons  and  daughters,  to  whom  they've 
been  able  to  give  the  advantages  they  have 
missed." 

"You  don't  have  to  do  a  thing,"  I  com- 
mented. "I  should  think  you'd  be  glad." 

"That's  where  you're  wrong.  I  have  a 
great  deal  to  do.  I've  got  to  keep  going. 
People  are  so  easily  lost  sight  of  in  this  coun- 
try, where  everything  is  in  a  continual  state 
of  flux.  Take  the  Blaisdens,  for  example. 
You  remember  the  Blaisdens?" 

"I've  heard  of  them.  Didn't  they  give  a 
series  of  musicales  about  two  years  ago?" 

"  Wonderful  musicales  ! "  she  replied.  "  Ca- 
ruso sang  at  the  last  one." 

She  paused,  and  I  remarked: 

"It  seems  to  me  I  haven't  heard  the 
Blaisdens  mentioned  lately." 

"They're  never  mentioned,"  she  replied. 
"They've  dropped  out.  They  went  abroad 


60          BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

at  the  end  of  the  season  and  haven't  been 
heard  of  since.  The  Glynn  Rollinses  took 
their  house.  They  considered  themselves 
lucky  to  get  it,  as  it's  an  ideal  house  for  en- 
tertaining. Everybody  goes  there,  just  the 
same." 

"Poor  Blaisdens!"  I  sighed.  "Perhaps 
they  had  to  pay  Caruso  out  of  the  rent ! 
Doesn't  any  one  care  enough  about  them  to 
ask?" 

"People  haven't  time.  There  are  always 
things  to  go  to.  It  doesn't  take  a  generation 
to  be  forgotten;  it's  a  matter  of  months." 

"If  it's  as  impersonal  as  that,  why 
bother?"  I  questioned.  "Any  unforeseen 
circumstance,  such  as  the  death  of  an  aunt 
or  an  illness,  would  break  up  the  whole 
scheme.  I'd  much  rather  have  a  few  friends 
whom  I  could  count  on  to  come  and  see  me 
if  I  were  ill,  or  call  me  up  on  the  telephone, 
whether  I  happened  to  be  in  mourning  or 
not.  Then  there'd  never  be  any  break  to 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA          61 

bridge  over — no  worry  about  trying  to  get 
back.  One  would  have  a  freer  mind  for 
other  things." 

"What  things  ?"  she  asked  impatiently. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  I  evaded,  flushing 
in  sudden  reserve;  then,  deciding  that  this 
was  unfair  to  her,  I  brought  myself  to  add : 
"Reading,  studying,  thinking  things  out. 
In  my  case  painting,  perhaps." 

"Painting!"  She  took  me  up.  "There 
you  are !  I  don't  believe  you  ever  thought  of 
such  a  thing  as  painting  until  you  met  that 
man  last  night." 

"Yes,  I  did,"  I  assured  her  eagerly.  "Oh, 
I  love  it  so,  mother !  I've  been  painting — a 
little — for  years.  Oils  and  water-color,  both. 
And  I  did  lots  of  caricatures  at  school;  cut 
them  out  of  black  paper.  The  girls  thought 
they  were  killing.  I've  got  one  of  a  fat 
lady  up-stairs.  Shall  I  get  it?" 

"Another  time,"  she  put  me  ofF,  dismiss- 
ing my  poor  little  achievements  as  unworthy 


62          BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

of  notice  and  thus  wounding  me  to  the 
quick. 

Never,  I  believed,  to  my  dying  day,  would 
it  be  possible  to  me  to  open  my  lips  to  her 
upon  this  subject  again. 

"You  won't  have  much  time  for  reading 
and  studying,  and  such  things,  after  this," 
she  went  on,  in  a  manner  distinctly  dis- 
paraging to  all  intellectual  pursuits.  "You'll 
have  enough  to  do  to  get  ready  to  'come 
out/  I  begin  to  realize  that  I  ought  not  to 
have  kept  you  away  so  long;  but,  now  it's 
done,  we  must  make  the  best  of  it.  A  great 
deal  can  be  accomplished  in  seven  months 
if  you  make  a  business  of  it." 

"Is  it  so  serious  as  all  that  ?"  I  asked,  in- 
timidated. "Can't  I  just  go  to  parties,  when 
the  time  comes,  for  the  fun  of  it  ?" 

"Don't  refer  to  cosmopolitan  entertain- 
ments as  parties,"  she  corrected.  "You'd  find 
the  dances  extremely  formidable  if  you  hadn't 
laid  a  foundation  with  the  dancing  men." 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA          63 

I  wondered  whether  the  dancing  men  had 
any  other  avocation,  or  whether  the  whole 
of  their  activities  was  comprehended  in  that 
term,  as  one  speaks  of  "performing  bears." 

"Is  Allan  Denning  a  dancing  man?"  I 
asked. 

"Yes,"  she  returned,  with  an  increase  of 
cordiality  in  her  tone,  "and  you  made  an 
excellent  beginning  with  him  last  night. 
That  was  one  reason  I  was  so  determined 
not  to  have  you  get  mixed  up  in  any  way 
with  this  painter  and  his  friends,  whoever 
they  are.  The  most  exclusive  women  of  my 
acquaintance  are  only  too  glad  to  get  Allan 
Denning  to  come  to  their  houses.  Do  you 
imagine  for  one  moment  that  he's  going  to 
stoop  to  enter  into  competition  with  a  no- 
body for  the  favor  of  a  mere  schoolgirl  ? 
Don't  deceive  yourself!  If  he  sees  you 
going  about  with  outsiders  he'll  let  you  drop; 
and  your  stock  will  fall — not  only  with  him 
but  with  all  the  other  young  men  of  his  sort 


64          BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

who  might  have  proved  extremely  useful  to 
you." 

As  she  spoke  I  recalled  Allan  Denning's 
cool  stare  at  John  Randall  last  evening,  his 
whispered  "Who  is  that  ?  I  don't  remember 
having  seen  him  before,"  which  had  dispelled 
my  first  pleasant  impression  of  him  and 
stamped  him  for  me  as  a  snob. 

"Mother,"  I  said,  with  intense  earnest- 
ness, "suppose  I  don't  want  the  sort  of  suc- 
cess you've  planned  for  me  ?  Suppose  the 
very  thought  of  it  is  repugnant  to  me  ? 
Suppose  I  don't  care  for  men  of  Allan  Den- 
ning's type  and  do  care  for  those  of  Mr. 
Randall's  ?  Since  it's  a  matter  of  choice, 
oughtn't  it  to  be  left  to  me  to  choose  ?  I'm 
not  fitted  by  temperament  for  the  sort  of 
life  you  lead.  No  matter  how  hard  I  try,  I 
know  I  shall  not  succeed  in  being  a  credit  to 
you.  Why  not  drop  the  whole  perplexing 
business  and  let  me  go  to  college  ?  Think 
of  the  relief  to  us  both !  What  harm  does 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA          65 

it  do  to  change  one's  plans  ?  If  I  went  back 
to  school  next  year  I  could  pass  the  Bryn 
Mawr  exams  in  June.  Let  me,  mother !  It 
would  make  me  absolutely  happy.  .  .  . 
After  all,  it's  my  life  that's  in  question,  isn't 
it?" 

"Yours!"  she  cried  in  high  indignation. 
"You  think  only  of  yourself.  What  about 
my  life  ?  Hasn't  my  every  thought  been 
centred  on  your  coming  out — for  years  ? 
Didn't  I  build  a  house  that  was  bigger  than 
I  needed  just  to  be  able  to  do  the  thing 
properly  ?  And  now  you  say  you  don't 
want  it !  It's  perfectly  ridiculous !  How 
can  a  girl  of  seventeen,  who's  had  no  experi- 
ence, know  what  she  wants  ?  Do  you  imagine 
I'm  going  to  allow  you,  in  your  childish  igno- 
rance and  conceit,  to  knock  down  at  one  blow 
what  I've  been  building  up  ever  since  you 
were  born  ?  To  rob  my  social  career  of  its 
climax  ?" 

I  saw  that  my  case  was  hopeless.    Mother 


66          BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

needed  me  in  her  business.  There  was  noth- 
ing for  it  but  to  give  in.  How  could  I  con- 
tinue to  oppose  her  and  live  under  the  same 
roof  ?  If  I  did,  existence  would  be  hell !  I 
was  the  under  dog,  and  I  knew  it.  On  the 
side  of  the  oppressor  there  was  power. 

"What  do  you  want  me  to  do?"  I  asked, 
with  heavy  heart.  "Write  Mr.  Randall  a 
note?" 

"Yes,  dear,"  she  replied,  with  an  entire 
change  of  tone  and  manner.  "Sit  down  at 
that  desk.  I'll  word  it  for  you." 

"Dear  Mr.  Randall,"  she  wrote  through 
my  agency;  "I  am  sorry  not  to  be  able  to 
come  to  your  studio  on  Thursday,  as  we  are 
moving  to  the  country  to-morrow." 

"To-morrow?"  I  repeated,  incredulous. 
"I  thought  we  weren't  going  until  next 
week." 

"I've  changed  my  mind." 

"On  my  account?"  I  asked  with  a  slow 
flush.  "Do  you  think  I'd  go  to  the  studio 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA          67 

on  the  sly,  mother  ?  Is  that  the  sort  of  girl 
you  think  I  am  ?" 

"It's  not  that,"  she  replied  hastily.  "I'm 
doing  it  in  order  to  supply  you  with  an  ex- 
cuse." 

I  chewed  my  pen  and  waited  for  her  to  go 
on  with  the  dictation. 

"With  appreciation  of  your  kindness  in 
asking  me,"  she  concluded,  "Sincerely  yours, 
Barbara  West." 

When  I  had  sealed  the  envelope  she  pressed 
the  bell  for  her  maid. 

"Yvonne,"  she  directed,  "see  that  this  is 
sent  at  once  by  messenger.  No  answer." 

Thus  definitely  the  episode  was  closed. 
All  that  day  I  expected  signs  of  dismantling, 
but  did  not  see  any. 

"How  can  we  move  on  Thursday?"  I 
asked  at  dinner.  "Why,  this  house  is  going 
full  tilt !  Not  a  single  thing's  covered  up  or 
put  away.  And  how  is  the  other  house  to 
be  got  ready  five  days  before  the  time?" 


68          BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

"My  dear  child,"  mother  explained  with 
a  slight  smile,  "it's  perfectly  simple.  The 
Long  Island  house  is  never  really  closed. 
It's  easily  put  in  shape  with  an  extra  staff 
of  cleaners.  I  telephoned  the  superinten- 
dent this  morning  to  attend  to  it.  As  for 
the  town  house,  I  never  have  anything 
touched  until  I'm  out  of  it.  We  take  our 
final  meal  with  the  silver  on  the  table.  It's 
the  only  way  to  live  nicely." 

At  this  calm  statement  my  mind  went 
back  to  a  house  I  knew  in  the  Southern  city 
near  my  school.  I  had  been  privileged  to 
enjoy  its  hospitality  on  several  occasions 
through  a  classmate,  whose  home  it  was. 
How  did  its  mistress  live,  if  not  nicely  ? 
Many  a  rare  bit  of  old  china  had  arrested 
even  my  inexperienced  eye,  when  passed  to 
me  in  her  own  hand  at  tea-time.  The  furni- 
ture in  her  cool  parlor,  the  lace  at  her  wrist, 
were  as  fragile  and  exquisite  as  herself. 
Yet  that  house  was  "put  away,"  regularly 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA          69 

at  the  first  sign  of  warm  weather,  every 
spring.  The  entire  staff  at  this  gentle  lady's 
command  consisted  of  two  old  fat  mam- 
mies. 

For  the  first  time  it  flashed  upon  me  that 
she  must  be  in  straightened  circumstances. 
I  had  never  suspected  it  amid  the  several 
daintinesses  with  which  she  was  surrounded 
— all  cherished  heirlooms.  She  would  have 
considered  it  lacking  in  taste  to  display  her 
poverty.  What  would  she  have  thought  of 
our  display  of  riches  ?  Even  our  lavishness 
of  housecleaning  suddenly  seemed  to  me  in- 
decently ostentatious.  And  why  suppress 
every  sign  of  the  business  of  living  ?  It  would 
have  been  inspiriting  to  hear  the  whir  of  the 
machinery,  instead  of  silencing  the  parts 
with  a  surfeit  of  oil. 

"Father,"  I  asked,  "do  all  the  people  you 
and  mother  know  live  in  big  houses  ?" 

"Oh,  no,"  he  answered,  and  I  felt  im- 
mensely relieved  until  he  added,  smoothing 


70          BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

his  little  black  mustache:  "Many  of  them 
prefer  apartments  now.  The  Abercrombies 
have  a  whole  floor  of  that  new  apartment- 
house  on  Fifth  Avenue.  It  has  twenty-six 
rooms  and  eight  baths.  I  met  Abercrombie 
at  the  Racket  Club  yesterday,  and  he  said 
they  found  it  very  comfortable." 

During  the  whole  of  the  next  morning  I 
was  aware,  in  my  room,  of  the  faint  rustle  of 
tissue-paper  in  the  hall.  When  I  emerged 
the  maid's  arms  were  buried  in  it  up  to  the 
elbows,  while  her  nose  pointed  toward  the 
cavernous  depths  of  one  of  a  double  row  of 
trunks.  This  was  the  sole  indication  of  our 
impending  departure. 

We  lunched  as  usual  at  half-past  one.  An 
hour  later,  according  to  schedule,  we  got 
into  the  automobile,  crossed  the  Queens- 
borough  Bridge,  and,  at  the  discreet  pace  that 
was  all  the  tiny  car  was  capable  of,  ap- 
proached our  destination  by  an  uninspiring 
and  filthy  route.  It  did  not  even  remotely 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA          71 

suggest  the  country,  this  flat  and  sordid 
stretch;  all  that  could  be  said  for  it  was  that 
it  was  not  the  city.  On  an  average  of  once 
every  two  minutes  a  big  touring-car  would 
shoot  by  us  and  we  would  be  obliged  to  eat 
its  dust,  which  puffed  in  at  our  one  open 
window.  We  had  barely  composed  ourselves 
after  an  interval  of  gasping,  gagging,  and 
swallowing  before  another  would  come  hurt- 
ling along. 

Mother  submitted  to  this  discomfort  en- 
tirely undisturbed.  It  was  customary  not 
only  to  live  on  Long  Island  until  July  but 
to  arrive  there  by  this  means  of  transporta- 
tion. Heat,  dirt,  and  ugliness,  since  they 
were  part  of  the  scheme,  were  all  to  be  en- 
dured with  equanimity. 

After  the  lapse  of  an  hour  the  scenery — if 
scenery  it  could  be  called,  punctuated  every 
few  miles,  as  it  was,  with  mean  little  vil- 
lages, road  houses,  and  saloons — improved 
somewhat,  and  the  air  grew  less  dense. 


72          BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

Presently  we  began  to  pass  enclosures  marked 
off  by  tall  iron  railings,  and  through  wrought- 
iron  gateways  we  glimpsed  blue  macadam 
driveways,  edged  by  trees  and  greenery, 
leading  to  those  considerable  mansions  which, 
like  those  who  had  built  them,  were  so  for- 
tunately situated  as  to  be  able  to  turn  their 
backs  upon  all  that  was  unlovely  in  their 
surroundings. 

Ours  was  one  of  the  largest  of  these. 
When  we  reached  its  boundaries  I  watched 
its  sombre  palings  ominously  approaching, 
one  by  one,  and,  without  pause,  flitting  by, 
with  a  feeling  as  little  cheerful  as  though  I 
had  been  a  corpse  at  my  own  funeral.  Once 
we  had  turned  in  at  the  gate  and  the  iron- 
work had  been  left  behind,  the  resemblance 
to  a  cemetery  was  diminished,  though  the 
clipped  shrubbery  and  the  swept  driveway 
kept  it  from  being  wholly  dissipated.  How- 
ever the  pebbles  might  fly  and  crunch  under 
our  tires  I  knew  that  within  the  next  five 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA          73 

minutes  all  traces  of  our  arrival  would  be 
raked  away. 

What  was  the  object  of  moving  from  one 
house  to  another  if  such  moving  was  to  af- 
ford no  variety,  no  change  of  scene  ?  We 
had  descended  stone  steps  in  New  York;  we 
were  ascending  stone  steps  in  Westbury. 
The  servants  who  stood  immovably  waiting 
were  duplicates  of  those  who  had  served  us  at 
luncheon — the  same  patent-leather  pumps; 
the  same  white  stockings,  shapely  calves, 
knee  breeches,  braid,  faces  of  painstakingly 
acquired  vacuity.  How  dull  it  was  to  be  rich 
if  you  were  also  unimaginative !  Duller  even 
than  being  poor! 

Instead  of  going  up-stairs  I  wandered  into 
the  drawing-room  and  stepped  out  through 
the  window  onto  the  upper  terrace.  The 
garden  occupied  the  lower  one.  My  eye 
swept  it  unemotionally.  Think  of  a  garden 
that  fails  to  thrill  the  being  in  June !  It  is 
unworthy  the  name  of  garden,  being  merely 


74          BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

a  space  allotted  to  horticulture.  The  gar- 
den at  school — ah,  that  was  a  garden,  in- 
deed, with  a  very  riot  of  flowers,  growing 
in  Southern  profusion — anywhere — anyhow  ! 
In  this  garden  they  were  set  out,  row  by 
row,  with  mathematical  precision,  the  vari- 
eties differentiated  by  means  of  wooden 
labels,  upon  which  their  botanical  names 
were  written  in  ink.  To  call  a  rose  by  its 
nickname  would  have  been  undue  familiarity. 

After  an  interval  I  caught  sight  of  mother 
on  the  lower  level,  moving  about  among  the 
beds.  I  had  seen  her  last  in  dark  blue  and 
now  she  was  daintily  dressed  in  mauve. 
A  gardener  had  sprung  up  from  somewhere. 
Him  she  appeared  to  be  directing  in  some 
way,  vaguely  pointing  with  a  folded  mauve 
parasol. 

"How  did  you  get  out  without  my  seeing 
you?"  I  cried,  running  down  to  her.  "And 
how  did  you  happen  to  change  ?  Have  the 
trunks  come  already?" 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA          75 

"I  came  out  through  the  billiard-room," 
she  answered.  "Of  course,  the  trunks  have 
come !  They  arrived  by  motor-truck  three- 
quarters  of  an  hour  ago.  Yvonne  has  un- 
packed half  of  them  by  now,  with  two 
housemaids  to  help  her.  Hurry  and  change 
your  gown.  I'm  expecting  several  people 
for  tea." 

As  I  obeyed  I  wondered  whether  Yvonne 
had  arrived  by  motor-truck,  too,  sitting  be- 
side the  driver.  At  any  rate,  she  had  been 
transferred  by  some  speedier  method  of 
locomotion  than  ours.  While  I  was  dressing, 
motors  began  to  arrive,  and  when  I  came 
down  the  great  hall  was  already  swarming 
with  guests,  mostly  dowagers  in  resplendent 
embroidery,  lace  veils,  and  pearls. 

I  was  introduced  to  a  great  many  of  them, 
who  talked  rather  about  me  than  to  me, 
making  such  comments  as: 

"Came  home  only  day  before  yesterday! 
How  glad  you  must  be  to  have  her!" 


76          BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

"Not  very  tall  for  seventeen,  is  she?" 

"She  must  meet  my  girls.  Could  she 
dine  with  them  next  Monday  ?  Oh,  no — no 
one  will  be  there  who  is  'out.'  Just  the 
younger  set." 

They  stayed  until  nearly  seven.  When  the 
last  group  had  gone  mother  announced 
hurriedly: 

"I  must  fly !  We'll  be  late  at  the  Rudford 
Joneses,  as  it  is.  They're  at  Oyster  Bay 
and  it  takes  half  an  hour  to  get  there." 

"I  didn't  know  you  were  dining  out,"  I 
replied,  rather  disconsolately. 

"We  always  dine  out  when  we  don't  have 
people  in,"  she  said.  "I've  ordered  your 
dinner  served  in  my  sitting-room,  Bar- 
bara." 

"Let  me  have  milk  toast  on  a  tray  instead," 
I  begged.  "Then  I  won't  have  to  have  a 
man  watching  every  mouthful  I  eat.  Be- 
sides," I  added  cannily,  "it'll  be  much 
better  for  my  digestion.  I've  been  stuffing 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA         77 

myself  for  two  hours  with  all  kinds  of  little 
cakes." 

"You're  as  greedy  as  you  can  be !"  returned 
mother,  shocked.  "Well,  do  as  you  like." 

"It  wasn't  greed,"  I  explained  as  she 
started  up-stairs.  "It  was  just  something 
to  do.  I  couldn't  stand  there  unoccupied 
while  all  those  women  looked  me  over  to  see 
whether  I  would  do  for  their  children  to  as- 
sociate with." 

I  woke  next  morning,  in  accordance  with 
long-established  habit,  promptly  at  half  past 
six — too  early  to  get  up.  It  was,  in  fact,  too 
early  to  wake  up,  for  our  household  habit- 
ually remained  wrapped  in  slumber  until 
nine.  Yet  I  was  ravenously  hungry. 

"What  would  they  do,"  I  wondered,  "if  I 
should  come  down  at  half  past  seven  and  de- 
mand breakfast  ?  I  think  I'll  try  it.  They'll 
be  sweeping  or  something,"  I  conjectured  as 
I  went  down-stairs. 

But  "they"  were  not  sweeping.     There 


78          BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

was  no  one  about.  "They"  were  imitating 
the  matutinal  habits  of  their  employers. 

"The  butler's  probably  having  his  break- 
fast served  in  bed,"  I  thought  scornfully.  I 
had  no  use  for  that  butler.  "Wonder  what'll 
happen  if  I  ring  this  bell!" 

I  pressed  it,  and  for  a  long  time  nothing 
happened.  Finally  a  footman  in  shirt-sleeves, 
peering  round  the  screen  that  hid  the  pantry 
door,  withdrew  his  head  with  a  jerk.  The 
next  moment  he  reappeared  with  his  coat  on, 
arms  at  his  sides  militarily,  and  I  made  my 
wishes  known.  He  vanished  and,  after  at 
least  twenty  minutes,  came  back  with  very 
bad  coffee,  which  I  was  sure  had  been  de- 
signed for  consumption  below  stairs,  an  over- 
fried  egg,  and  some  cold  damp  toast,  left 
over  from  the  day  before.  No  trace  of  the 
chefs  hand  here ! 

When  I  went  back  to  my  room  it  was  just 
as  I  had  left  it — my  things  scattered  here, 
there,  and  everywhere;  bed-clothes  rumpled 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA          79 

on  the  bed.  No  doubt  the  housemaid  was 
still  dreaming.  This,  too,  I  suppose,  was  a 
part  of  what  mother  called  living  nicely. 

I  pottered  about  for  an  hour  or  two;  and 
then,  all  at  once,  the  house  burst  into  ac- 
tivity. People  walked,  creaked,  and  thumped 
overhead  and  under;  carpet-sweepers 
groaned;  brooms  swished;  trays  clattered. 

At  eleven  mother  came  to  my  room,  hatted 
and  veiled,  with  a  little  bag  in  her  hand. 

"Get  ready,  Barbara,"  she  instructed  me. 
"The  motor  will  be  here  in  ten  minutes." 

"Are  we  going  for  a  drive?"  I  asked 
eagerly.  "How  nice !  I'm  crazy  to  get  some 
wild  flowers." 

"We're  going  to  town,"  she  returned. 
"I've  got  some  shopping  to  do.  We'll  stop 
at  Yvette's  and  pick  up  your  blue  crepe  de 
Chine  gown,  with  the  jacket.  That  ought  to 
be  ready  to-day.  And  I  think  I  can  find  you 
a  hat  at  Rothenstein's." 

"Can't  I  wear  my  old  clothes,"  I  ques- 


8o          BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

tioned,  "just  to  go  shopping  ?  We  shan't 
see  a  soul." 

"We'll  see  everybody,"  she  returned,  "at 
luncheon  at  Sherry's." 

"What  a  pretty  dress!"  I  said  an  hour 
later,  with  a  gratified  glance  at  myself  in  the 
long  mirror  at  Yvette's.  "This  hat  does  look 
funny  with  it." 

"It  certainly  does,"  agreed  mother. 
"We'll  go  right  to  Rothenstein's  now." 

At  the  millinery  shop  the  shades  were 
drawn  to  keep  out  the  heat,  and  quantities 
of  gray-garbed  girls  lounged  about,  yawning. 
Most  of  them  had  yellow  hair  and  very  red 
cheeks. 

Mother  selected  a  dainty  hat  of  silver  lace, 
trimmed  with  tiny  flowers  and  a  narrow  silk 
bow.  It  looked  like  a  boudoir  cap  and  the 
price  was  forty  dollars.  I  knew  better  now 
than  to  utter  any  protest  aloud,  and  even  my 
inner  objections  were  lost  in  admiration  of 
the  skilfully  wrought  flowerets.  The  hat 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA          81 

certainly  did  offset  the  shape  of  my  head. 
Made  it  look  trim  and  compact,  I  decided, 
turning  it  left  and  right  as  I  held  up  a  hand- 
glass for  its  better  inspection. 

Coming  out  we  met  Miss  Wier  face  to  face; 
and  I  realized,  to  my  dismay,  that  I  was 
strutting  like  a  peacock. 

"Mother,"  I  said,  my  face  burning  under 
my  coquettish  hat,  "this  is  Miss  Wier.  I've 
been  dying  to  have  you  meet  her." 

"How  do  you  do,  Miss  Wier?"  said 
mother  graciously.  "I've  heard  so  much  of 
you  from  Barbara.  I  wish  you  could  come 
down  to  the  country  and  spend  a  night  with 
us — sometime." 

"Thank  you  so  much,  Mrs.  West,"  was 
the  reply,  "but  I'm  leaving  the  city  to-day. 
I'm  delighted  to  have  this  glimpse  of  you, 
Barbara.  I  should  hardly  have  known  you, 
you  look  so — smart." 

There  was  renunciation  in  her  eyes.  Be- 
fore I  knew  it  she  was  gone. 


82          BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

I  hated  my  new  finery  now.  I  wanted  to 
tear  it  all  off  and  throw  it  into  the  street, 
since  it  had  come  between  me  and  my  friend. 
I  longed  to  convince  her  that  it  had  wrought 
no  change  in  me;  that  it  never  would.  But 
presently  a  doubt  arose  in  my  breast. 
Hadn't  it  begun  to  affect  me — just  a  little 
bit? 

Sighing  and  perplexed  I  sat  very  still  in 
my  corner  and  watched  the  summer  pedes- 
trians moving  along  slowly  under  the  gayly 
striped  awnings  of  the  shops,  until  we  turned 
into  Forty-fourth  Street,  which  purred  with 
motors,  each  pausing  for  a  moment  to  drop 
its  quota  of  women  in  gala  attire  at  the 
restaurant  door  and  then  passing  on.  Ar- 
rayed in  cutaway,  "dickey,"  and  top-hat, 
with  a  cane  in  one  hand  and  a  pair  of  castor 
gloves  in  the  other,  an  occasional  male  was 
to  be  glimpsed  amid  this  female  galaxy. 

Such  get-ups — or  should  I  say  gets-up  ? — 
I  had  heretofore  supposed  had  no  existence 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA          83 

outside  the  imagination  of  whoever  wrote 
"What  the  Man  Will  Wear"  in  the  theatre 
programmes. 

One  ape,  with  face  merely  vapid,  bowed  to 
mother;  another,  with  something  in  his  ex- 
pression that  made  me  shrink,  lifted  his  hat 
as  we  passed;  then  an  old  one,  who  was  not 
entitled  to  the  privilege,  since  he  did  not 
greet  her,  looked  me  up  and  down  with  an 
odious  leer  that  made  me  crawl. 

But  once  inside  the  portals  I  began  to 
enjoy  myself,  as  I  always  enjoyed  music, 
bustle,  heat,  hurry,  and  noise  when  I  was 
allowed  to  be  an  observer  instead  of  having 
to  take  part  in  the  show. 

"Isn't  this  a  spree?"  I  whispered.  "I'm 
so  afraid  you  won't  be  able  to  get  a  table, 
mother." 

"The  table  was  reserved  yesterday,"  she 
said,  "by  telephone.  There's  the  head 
waiter  now." 

The  person  designated,  after  having  greeted 


84          BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

her  with  the  smiling  cordiality  that  was 
evidently  appropriate  in  a  head  waiter  but 
would  have  caused  a  house  servant  to  be 
discharged,  ushered  us  to  a  tiny  table  for 
two  just  inside  an  open  window,  and  darted 
off  to  other  preoccupations. 

"What  will  you  have,  Barbara?"  asked 
mother,  studying  the  menu. 

"Nothing  much,"  I  answered.  "It's  so 
hot,  isn't  it  ?  You  order  it.  There's  Mrs. 
Aspinwall  over  there,  with  the  stiff  woman 
in  yellow,  and  that  horrid-looking  girl — if 
she  is  a  girl!  Is  she  a  girl,  mother?" 

Mother  followed  the  direction  of  my 
eyes. 

"Look  how  she's  made  up,  mother,"  I 
went  on,  horrified.  "Like  a  chorus  girl! 
Her  lips  look  as  though  they  were  bleeding ! 
I've  never  seen  anything  so  disgusting!" 

At  this  moment  the  object  of  our  inspec- 
tion opened  her  little  silk  bag,  selected 
therefrom  a  minute  mirror,  deliberately  ex- 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA          85 

amined  her  features  therein,  gave  a  few 
critical  touches  to  her  hair,  put  the  mirror 
back,  closed  the  bag,  picked  up  a  fork,  and 
began  to  prod  the  food  about  indifferently 
on  her  plate. 

"  That's  Ruth  Alvord,"  mother  explained. 
"You  mustn't  form  slapdash  judgments, 
Barbara.  Ruth  is  a  very  intelligent  girl. 
Her  mother  is  Mrs.  Barton  Winslow,  a 
friend  of  mine.  You'll  get  into  trouble  if 
you're  not  more  careful  of  what  you  say 
about  people." 

"What  would  you  do,"  I  asked  curiously, 
"if  I  should  begin  to  powder  and  rouge? 
to  say  nothing  of  behaving  like  that  in  a 
public  restaurant!" 

"You  couldn't,"  was  the  reply.  "You're 
not  'out.'  She  is.  It  would  be  very  bad 
form  in  a  girl  who  wasn't  out.  Ruth  has 
been  out  two  years.  Of  course,  she  does 
make  herself  rather  conspicuous;  but  she's 
all  right  at  heart." 


86          BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

By  which  she  meant  not  what  she  said, 
but  that  Miss  Alvord  was  the  daughter  of 
Mrs.  Barton  Winslow  and  must  be  accepted, 
without  question,  as  such. 

At  this  moment  the  waiter  who  had 
taken  our  order  came  hurrying  up. 

"What  are  those  little  black  things?"  I 
asked  suspiciously,  watching  mother,  who, 
having  laid  a  square  of  dry  toast  upon  her 
plate,  was  now  spreading  it  sparsely  with 
something  extracted  from  a  dish  surrounded 
with  ice  and  garnished  with  small  slivers  of 
lemon.  "Do  I  have  to  take  any?" 

"Sh!"  she  reprimanded,  looking  at  me 
as  one  might  look  at  some  uninitiated  rela- 
tive from  the  country.  "It's  caviar — fresh 
caviar.  Don't  be  childish,  Barbara !  Cer- 
tainly; take  some." 

"It's  rather  good,"  I  admitted;  then,  the 
waiter  having  once  more  left  us,  I  asked, 
half  banteringly,  half  affectionately:  "Are 
you  ashamed  of  my  ignorance,  mother?" 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA          87 

"Not  of  your  ignorance,"  she  replied, 
"but  of  your  complete  unconsciousness  that 
you  are  ignorant." 

Glancing  across  the  vista  of  tables  just 
then  I  caught  the  eye  of  the  Alvord  girl. 
Seeing  herself  observed,  even  by  another 
girl,  she  instantly  drooped  her  shoulders, 
thrust  her  chin  out  in  an  attitude  of  studied 
boredom,  flicked  a  speck  from  her  gown 
with  one  long  white  finger,  and  let  her  mouth 
fall  into  disdainful  curves. 

"She's  not  unconscious  of  anything  she 
does,"  I  reflected.  "I  wonder  if  that's  the 
manner  mother'd  like  me  to  acquire?" 

Our  luncheon  over,  mother  barely  glanced 
at  the  slip  that  was  offered  her,  folded. 
Opening  her  gold  purse,  she  took  out  a  bill 
and  laid  it  beside  the  bit  of  paper  on  the 
salver.  As  it  was  swept  away  in  the  waiter's 
hand  I  saw  the  double  X  in  the  corner.  I 
expected  mountains  of  change,  but  when 
it  came  there  were  only  three  quarters  and 


88          BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

a  two-dollar  bill.  Mother  picked  up  the 
quarters  and  waved  away  the  bill. 

The  waiter  who  pocketed  it  had  a  hag- 
gard face,  seamed  with  illness  or  former 
want.  My  meeting  with  Miss  Wier  had 
started  me  thinking,  and  now  this  face  sud- 
denly loomed  terrible  to  my  eyes,  typify- 
ing all  the  miseries  of  the  poor.  I  dared 
not  look  at  the  man  as  I  followed  mother 
out.  Somehow  I  felt  that  we  had  insulted 
him  with  our  money — made  him  an  acces- 
sory in  our  crime. 

As  mother  threaded  her  way  among  the 
crowded  tables,  walking  erect  and  bowing 
graciously  here  and  there,  I  hung  my  head, 
unhappy  and  ashamed. 

"Must  we  do  more  shopping?"  I  asked 
wearily  while  we  were  waiting  for  the  car 
to  come  up.  "Couldn't  we  go  and  hear 
some  music  somewhere?" 

My  spirit  had  trailed  along  the  earth  for 
so  many  hours  that  I  felt  an  urgent  need  of 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA          89 

something  to  lift  it  up;  but  mother  nega- 
tived the  suggestion.  She  had  a  "fitting" 
at  three  and  an  appointment  to  look  at  some 
Chinese  rugs  at  four. 

"I  wish  I  could  get  into  the  woods,"  I 
said,  when  at  last  we  were  on  our  way 
home,  "and  sleep  in  my  clothes,  and  have 
nothing  to  eat  but  what  I  cooked  my- 
self." 

"The  woods,"  replied  mother,  "would 
be  extremely  uncomfortable  at  this  time  of 
year,  with  the  mosquitoes.  You're  much 
better  off  where  you  are." 

"But  I'm  not  there,"  I  objected.  "It's 
not  living  in  the  country  to  spend  the  day  in 
town." 

"It's  what  everybody  does,"  said  mother. 
"If  you  stayed  on  Long  Island  in  the  day- 
time you'd  stay  there  alone — except  on  rac- 
ing days,  of  course,  and  during  polo  week. 
But  that's  over." 

"Let  me  stay  alone  sometimes,"  I  begged. 


90          BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

"I  shouldn't  mind  it  a  bit.  I  can  always 
find  plenty  to  do." 

"No,"  returned  mother  with  decision. 
"I'm  going  to  take  you  about  with  me.  The 
season  is  half  over.  People  will  be  leaving 
for  Newport  and  Bar  Harbor  in  another 
three  weeks.  You  mustn't  lose  a  single 
chance  of  being  seen." 

We  went  to  town  every  day  that  week 
and  the  next.  Usually  we  lunched  at 
Sherry's,  sometimes  at  the  Ritz;  and  once 
we  visited  an  Italian  restaurant  in  an  ob- 
scure street,  which  "people  were  beginning 
to  go  to."  At  night  we  had  dinners,  formal 
and  informal.  At  the  formal  I  appeared, 
dressed  in  my  best,  stood  about  until  all 
the  guests  had  assembled,  and  made  my 
escape  while  cocktails  were  being  served. 
At  the  latter  I  remained  throughout  the 
evening.  Twice  I  dined  out  with  other  girls 
and  boys.  The  first  lot  were  of  my  own  age 
and  younger — comrades  in  the  transition 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA          91 

stage,  whose  awkwardness  gave  no  indica- 
tion of  the  stupendous  changes,  physical  and 
mental,  that  were  going  on  inside. 

The  dinner  was  a  pompous  affair,  but  the 
dancing  that  followed  was  good  fun.  The 
boys  trod  on  my  toes  until  I  volunteered  to 
teach  them  the  steps,  and  then  the  evening 
was  mine.  How  queer  we  should  have 
looked  to  adults,  had  any  adults  been  there 
to  see !  There  were  none,  as  all  the  adults 
were  at  entertainments  of  their  own.  Some 
of  us  had  shot  out  like  telescopes;  others  had 
their  heads  growing  between  their  shoulders. 
Some  were  fat,  some  lean;  for  even  your  Long 
Island  cannot  escape  its  awkward  age. 

The  second  assemblage  to  which  I  was 
introduced  consisted  of  the  butterflies  of 
next  year — the  grubs  of  last.  They  fore- 
shadowed that  which  was  to  be  and  gave 
no  sign  whatever  of  what  had  so  recently 
been.  The  girls  had  acquired  a  knowledge 
of  what  was  to  constitute  their  stock  in 


92          BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

trade — from  froufrou  hair,  brought  down 
over  their  ears,  to  sharply  pointed,  shiny 
finger-nails;  from  coy  glances  to  fixed 
smiles,  displaying  regular  teeth  or  dimples 
or  pretty  lips,  whichever  they  happened  to 
be  endowed  with — extremely  disconcerting 
to  me,  since  I  had  not  acquired  it.  Their 
talk  was  of  the  races,  the  polo  that  I  had 
missed,  and  current  "shows." 

One  boy  had  been  to  the  "Broadway 
Follies"  seventeen  times,  as  he  took  pains  to 
tell  me  twice,  being  a  simple  soul  in  spite 
of  his  coat  tails,  hair  plastered  back  from 
his  forehead,  and  the  gardenia  in  his  but- 
tonhole. When  I  went  home  I  saw  him 
driving  himself  off  in  a  huge  red  automo- 
bile, with  a  nice-looking  man  in  a  gray 
ulster — probably  a  tutor — at  his  side.  What 
could  a  tutor  teach  a  boy  brought  up  like 
that  ? 

The  hot,  dusty  days  in  town,  the  hurry 
of  dressing,  the  heavy  food,  which  I  bolted 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA          93 

out  of  sheer  nervousness,  the  strain  of 
meeting  new  people — disturbed  my  nights 
and  made  me  toss  about  for  hours.  I  in- 
variably woke  with  a  dull  feeling  in  my 
temples,  and  was  only  too  glad  to  have  my 
breakfast  brought  to  me  in  bed.  Provided 
the  hour  at  which  I  rang  for  it  was  late 
enough,  I  could  thus  be  reasonably  sure  of 
a  good  cup  of  coffee.  I  got  to  depend  upon 
this  more  and  more,  and  took  it  blacker 
and  blacker.  Exercise  was  not  included  in 
the  plan  of  campaign  and  I  felt  the  lack  of 
it  sharply. 

One  day  we  came  out  from  town  early, 
as  mother  was  going  to  Mrs.  Barton  Wins- 
low's  for  tea. 

"I  think  I'll  take  you  with  me,"  she  said 
as  we  turned  in  at  the  driveway. 

"In  this  gown?"  I  protested,  having  on 
only  my  second  best.  "Do  you  think  I  look 
well  enough  ?" 

Mother  smiled  approval. 


94          BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

"You  wouldn't  have  thought  of  that  a 
week  ago,"  she  commended.  "You're  learn- 
ing. It  won't  matter  here.  Mrs.  Winslow 
has  a  gift  of  making  every  one  feel  at  home." 

This  time  she  spoke  the  truth. 

Mrs.  Winslow  was  a  very  charming 
woman,  graceful  in  appearance  and  in 
speech.  I  lost  my  heart  to  her  on  the  spot. 

"Come  and  meet  my  daughter,"  she  in- 
vited; and,  holding  me  by  the  hand,  she 
led  me  over  to  the  tea-table. 

With  a  man  seated  on  each  side  and  two 
standing  against  the  wall  behind,  Ruth 
Alvord  was  pouring  the  tea.  She  had  a 
certain  sort  of  good  looks,  but  not  a  trace  of 
her  mother's  breeding.  How  had  she  missed 
it  ?  I  wondered.  It  was  my  first  encounter 
with  the  effect  produced  by  the  total  de- 
tachment of  interests  among  people  of  our 
sort. 

In  humbler  circumstances  a  daughter 
begins  to  drink  in  her  mother's  ideas  with 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA          95 

her  mother's  milk.  We,  poor  things,  miss 
even  this,  being  generally  bottle-fed;  and 
by  the  time  we  are  eighteen  separation 
is  complete,  especially  if  some  relative — 
a  father,  perhaps,  as  in  this  case — before 
making  his  exit  from  the  stage  is  consider- 
ate enough  to  insure  us  independence  of 
every  good  influence  by  providing  us  with 
a  fortune  in  our  own  right. 

The  interruption  of  my  advent  caused 
Miss  Alvord  obvious  annoyance;  and,  upon 
her  mother's  introduction,  she  gave  me  an 
impertinent  stare.  Mrs.  Winslow  had  not 
time  to  observe  this.  Almost  before  the 
seated  swains  had  sprung  to  their  feet  she 
had  turned  to  receive  other  guests. 

"Woo,  how  do  you  do?"  the  daughter 
drawled  in  a  high,  thin  voice,  artificially 
pitched.  "Tea  ?  No  ?  Oh  !  Sit  down  again, 
Monty.  You,  too,  Jim." 

As  I  hastily  withdrew  I  saw  her  smile  at 
Monty  in  a  fashion  I  found  later  to  be  much 


96          BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

in  vogue  among  young  women  down  here; 
it  is  done  by  drawing  the  upper  lip  back 
over  the  teeth. 

Looking  about  for  mother,  I  espied  two 
very  slim  girls,  with  cups  in  their  hands, 
standing  in  the  embrasure  of  a  French 
window.  They  were  talking  with  a  man 
whose  back  was  toward  the  room.  I  knew 
that  back.  It  was  John  Randall's. 

As  I  recognized  it  the  blood  receded  from 
my  heart  and  then  came  pumping  back 
again.  Presently  that  overtaxed  organ  be- 
gan pounding  joyously.  Who  would  ever 
have  thought  of  coming  upon  John  Ran- 
dall in  a  Long  Island  drawing-room  ? 

It  was  my  lucky  star  that  had  caused 
this  untoward  phenomenon;  thrust  him 
under  my  eyes;  willed  me  to  find  him  again 
in  the  only  way  I  should  have  been  willing 
to  find  him — out  in  the  open,  in  plain  sight 
of  anybody  who  was  interested  enough  to  look. 

I  could  hardly  walk  properly  as  I  has- 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA          97 

tened  toward  him;  my  steps  wanted  to  break 
into  the  most  idiotic  little  skips,  just  as  my 
face  had  already  broken  into  radiant  smiles. 

"Hello!"  I  cried  breathlessly. 

The  girls  looked  up  in  surprise;  he 
turned — and  did  not  smile  at  me.  He 
merely  bowed,  with  a  slight  flush.  The 
repulse  of  that  look  was  like  a  blow  in  the 
face.  It  staggered  me. 

"This  is  an  unexpected  pleasure,  Miss 
West,"  he  said  stiffly.  "I'm  down  here 
just  for  a  few  days,  to  start — er — a — to 
start  a  portrait  of  Mrs.  Winslow.  I  made 
the  preliminary  sketch  this  morning." 

"Oh!"  I  said,  more  stiffly  than  he. 
"How  very  nice!  I  wish  you  success." 

With  that  I  wheeled  abruptly  and 
walked  away.  Behind  me  I  could  hear  the 
girls  resume  their  giggling;  could  picture 
the  silly  things  undulating  up  to  him  again, 
their  cups  shaking  to  the  shaking  of  their 
shoulders. 


98          BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

Why  didn't  he  shove  them  aside  and 
come  running  after  me  to  tell  me  it  wasn't 
true,  as  I  thought,  that  he  had  taken  offense 
at  my  letter  ?  That  he  had  merely  been  so 
surprised  at  seeing  me  his  mind  hadn't 
worked  ?  I  should  have  accepted  any  ex- 
cuse, no  matter  how  lame. 

But  he  didn't  come.  He  didn't  come 
because  it  was  true.  He  had  let  that  letter 
spoil  it  all.  He  was  a  sapless  creature — 
a  poor  thing,  without  imagination  enough 
to  read  mother  between  the  lines.  Why,  I 
had  never  for  one  moment  thought  of  his 
attributing  that  letter  to  me !  Any  fool 
could  see  that  it  was  her  letter;  she  jumped 
right  out  at  you  from  the  paper. 

I  had  thought  him  so  peculiarly  en- 
dowed with  fine  and  delicate  perceptions; 
and  now  I  found  him  literal  to  the  last  de- 
gree. It  was  infuriating  of  him  to  step 
down  from  the  pedestal  upon  which  I  had 
placed  him  and  mingle  with  the  throng, 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA          99 

sharing  its  qualities  of  littleness — suspicion, 
egotism,  false  pride.  Tears  of  vexation 
rose  to  my  eyes,  so  that  the  whole  room 
became  a  blur  and  I  could  not  see  where  I 
was  going. 

Of  course  I  promptly  collided  with  some- 
body, winked  away  the  tears  in  short  order, 
looked  up  to  ascertain  who  it  was  to  whom 
I  was  murmuring  an  apology — and  found 
myself  face  to  face  with  Allan  Denning.  I 
expected  some  bantering  retort;  but,  to 
my  surprise,  his  eyes  were  looking  straight 
into  mine  with  an  expression  of  anxious 
solicitude. 

Curious  that  I  had  not  noticed  before 
how  supremely  blue  they  were — as  blue 
as  the  shadows  on  snow  when  the  sun  is 
shining !  His  ruddy  cheeks  glowed  with  a 
suggestion  of  the  open  country;  they  made 
me  forget  the  dense  atmosphere  of  this 
tea-party  and  think  of  frosty  mornings; 
of  sleigh-bells;  of  crackling  camp-fires.  I 


ioo        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

could  imagine  him  walking  through  the 
autumn  woods,  gun  in  hand,  or  casting  his 
flies  over  the  still  pools  of  trout  streams. 
Why  didn't  he  realize  that  that — not  this — 
was  his  natural  element  ? 

"Something's  the  matter!"  he  said,  lean- 
ing quite  close. 

"No!"  I  protested.  "Nothing's  the  mat- 
ter— nothing  at  all.  I'm  just  hot,  that's 
all — hot  and  bored." 

He  smiled  irrelevantly  and  took  out  his 
handkerchief. 

"Look!"  he  said,  indicating  the  lace  on 
my  dress. 

I  looked;  and  there,  amid  its  folds,  hung 
a  telltale  tear. 

"Caught!"  I  admitted,  as  he  brushed 
it  away  with  the  irresistible  tenderness  of 
a  very  big  thing  for  a  very  little  one. 

"Now  come  out  of  this!"  he  ordered, 
"and  tell  me  all  about  it." 

It  was  pleasant  to  obey.     As   I   passed 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA        101 

mother  I  saw  her  looking  at  me,  paused 
just  long  enough  to  read  in  that  look  acqui- 
escence— commendation  even — and  went 
on.  I  was  so  tired  and  it  was  so  easy  to 
follow  the  line  of  least  resistance.  To  be 
approved  of  by  mother  was  a  new  sensa- 
tion. And  now  to  be  taken  care  of,  to  be 
soothed — that  was  new  too. 

"Out  with  it!"  Allan  Denning  com- 
manded when  we  were  seated  on  the  terrace 
in  two  light-green  iron  chairs,  with  a  cool 
vista  of  green  lawn  in  front,  and  the  move- 
ment and  color  of  the  "tea"  delightfully 
distant,  behind  the  long,  open  windows. 

"That  Alvord  girl,"  I  said,  "was  snippy 
to  me;  and  then — a  friend  of  mine  disap- 
pointed me.  That's  all  that  happened. 
Honest,  it  is!" 

"It's  enough!"  he  returned  quickly,  and 
his  eyes  flashed.  "That  you,"  he  added 
in  a  low  tone,  "should  be  subjected  to  the 
rudeness  of  a  girl  like  that!" 


102        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

His  scorn  of  Miss  Alvord  was  the  subtlest 
flattery  to  myself.  I  sat  silent,  drinking  it  in. 

"What  about  the  friend?"  he  resumed 
presently. 

I  shrank  back. 

"Don't  ask  me  about  that,"  I  answered, 
my  face  suffused.  "I'd  rather  not  talk 
about  that." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said  at  once. 
"You  spoke  of  it  first,  you  know.  What 
have  you  been  doing  with  yourself  all  these 
days?" 

At  his  making  it  so  easy  for  me  to  keep 
my  own  counsel  my  gratitude  went  out  to 
him  afresh. 

"Thousands  of  things!"  I  replied.  "Hor- 
rid things !  Things  I  hate — shopping, 
lunching,  going  to  teas,  dining  out,  having 
people  in.  When  I  used  to  read  about  it 
in  the  Social  Notes  it  sounded  so  gay.  But 
now  that  I'm  living  it,  it  doesn't  seem  gay 
a  bit." 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA        103 

"It  isn't  gay,"  he  replied.  "Putting  cer- 
tain people  in  juxtaposition  doesn't  con- 
stitute gayety.  The  only  people  who  are 
gay  down  here  are  the  ones  that  go  about 
together  because  they  want  to,  not  because 
they  have  anything  to  gain  by  it." 

"Where  are  those?"  I  asked  hopefully. 
"Why  haven't  I  met  them?" 

"Because  they're  busy  with  each  other," 
he  affirmed.  "You  won't  meet  them,  ex- 
cept by  accident." 

"I  shouldn't  think  it  would  be  necessary 
to  live  in  big  houses  on  Long  Island  to 
have  that  sort  of  fun,"  I  commented. 

"It  isn't,"  he  answered.  "The  same  sort 
is  obtainable  in  Lowell,  Massachusetts.  All 
you  need  is  a  gang  of  kindred  spirits." 

"Who  are  the  kindred  spirits  here?"  I 
asked. 

"Well,"  he  replied,  "there  are  the  Spen- 
cers, and  the  Glendennings,  and  the  Winty 
Athertons,  and  the  Boltons,  and " 


io4        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

"I  don't  see  any  of  their  entertainments 
mentioned  in  the  papers,"  I  interrupted. 

"They  don't  give  any,"  he  enlightened 
me.  "People  give  functions  only  when 
they  have  something  to  get  by  doing  it. 
What's  the  use  of  being  bothered  if  the 
world  is  your  oyster  to  begin  with  ?" 

"It's  a  relief,"  I  said  thoughtfully,  "to 
learn  that  there's  anybody  here,  however 
narrow  and  selfish,  who  doesn't  plot  and 
scheme." 

"The  plotting  and  scheming,"  he  re- 
turned, "is  all  done  by  those  who  are  not 
in  the  inner  circle,  but  who  wish  to  appear 
to  be  in  it." 

"Thank  you,"  I  said,  with  lurking  mis- 
chief in  my  eyes.  "You've  placed  my 
family  for  me  in  Who's  Who  on  Long 
Island." 

"Turn  over  the  page  and  you'll  find 
my  name,"  he  replied,  with  an  answering 
gleam.  "I'm  a  plotter  and  schemer  too.  I 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA        105 

tap  the  inner  circle  at  some  points;  but  I'm 
not  satisfied  with  that." 

At  that  moment  mother,  appearing  in 
the  window,  beckoned,  smiled,  and  waved 
a  blithe  parasol. 

"May  I  come  and  see  you  to-morrow?" 
asked  Allan  Denning  as  we  got  up,  holding 
my  hand  a  moment  longer  than  was  neces- 
sary. 

"Do!"  I  cried.  "Where  are  you  stay- 
ing?" 

A  shade  of  embarrassment  flickered 
across  the  self-satisfaction  of  his  demeanor. 

"I'm  staying  here,"  he  replied. 

"Staying  here?"  I  repeated.  "And  yet 
you  spoke  so  contemptuously  of  the  Alvord 
girl!  You  were  not  sincere  in  what  you 
said  to  me.  You  like  her.  You  wouldn't 
be  here  if  you  didn't." 

He  paused  before  he  answered. 

"I  despise  her,"  he  then  said  deliber- 
ately. "I  stay  here  because — because,"  he 


io6        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

ended  bitterly,  "that's  the  kind  of  thing 
we  plotters  and  schemers  do.  If  I'd  come 
in  contact — years  ago — with  a  few  girls  like 
you  I'd  have  been  out  of  that  class  long 
ago.  Won't  you  help  me  to  get  out  of  it 
now?" 

Once  more  his  flattery  went  to  my  head. 
I  was  confident  that  I  could  even  now  rev- 
olutionize his  standards,  having  been  so 
charmingly  invited  to  place  my  finger  in 
the  pie.  Returning  the  pressure  of  his 
fingers,  I  whispered  eagerly: 

"I'll  try." 

He  came  the  next  day,  and  the  next. 
On  the  fourth  day  he  moved  over  from 
Mrs.  Winslow's  house  to  ours,  bag  and 
baggage — motor,  valet,  golf-sticks,  tennis- 
rackets,  and  such  countless  other  neces- 
saries as  form  the  equipment  of  the  profes- 
sional week-ender. 

He  went  back  to  town  on  Monday,  and 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA        107 

upon  the  Friday  following,  mother  and 
father  having  accepted  an  invitation  to 
Hyde  Park  for  over  Sunday,  I  was  left, 
for  the  first  time  since  my  arrival,  free  to 
breathe. 

I  was  going  to  spend  my  Saturday  in 
sketching  in  oils  or  in  picking  field  flowers; 
I  hadn't  decided  which.  My  intention  was 
to  motor  as  far  from  civilization  as  I  could, 
be  dropped  somewhere,  and  left  until  called 
for.  The  weather  was  discouraging  to  my 
enterprise,  being  densely  foggy;  but  I  set 
out,  nevertheless. 

At  noon  I  found  a  heavenly  turn  in  a 
road,  with  a  high,  crumbly  wall  made  of 
brick;  and,  having  sent  the  car  away,  I 
scaled  the  wall  and  began  to  sketch  from 
the  top  of  it  a  deserted  farmhouse,  sur- 
rounded by  three  trees. 

A  faint,  yellow  thing,  like  an  orange,  was 
coming  through  the  fog.  Every  instant  it 
grew  brighter,  until  it  began  to  blaze  glori- 


io8        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

ously  and  became  the  sun.  Segments  of 
mist,  transfigured,  floated  about,  filaments 
of  unbelievable  delicacy.  Finally  they 
melted  and  the  whole  world  was  crystal- 
clear. 

The  colors  were  so  much  more  beautiful 
than  any  I  could  mix  that  I  sat,  paint-brush 
in  hand,  on  my  perch,  ears  attuned  to  the 
stillness.  Suddenly  it  was  broken  by  a  too 
familiar  sound — the  roar  of  a  motor  driven 
at  top  speed. 

Closer  and  closer  came  the  car,  swerving 
perilously  as  it  rounded  the  corner,  its 
wheel  in  the  nonchalant  hold  of  a  gray- 
coated  young  man. 

Bang !  A  terrific  report.  A  front  tire  had 
blown  out.  The  machine  gave  a  drunken 
lurch,  jumped  the  road  and  landed  in  a  ditch, 
just  grazing  the  wall  directly  under  me. 

The  young  man,  somewhat  dazed  by  the 
jar,  was  amusingly  unaware  of  my  presence. 

"Whew!"  I  said.    "What  a  disturbance! 


log 

No  harm  done,  I  guess.  What  are  you 
doing  in  this  unpopulated  place,  Mr.  Den- 
ning?" 

Speechless  with  surprise,  he  looked  up. 
My  appearance  evidently  did  not  lessen  his 
amazement.  Left  to  myself,  I  had  assem- 
bled my  costume  to  suit  my  own  fancy.  I 
had  on  a  linen  hat,  purchased  from  a  caddy, 
and  a  dress  of  lustrous  dark-blue  crepe  de 
Chine,  trimmed  with  lace.  It  was  open  at 
the  throat — and  upon  the  part  exposed  the 
fierce  rays  of  the  sun  had  burnt  an  angry 
purple  V.  I  had  exaltation  in  my  eye,  and 
in  my  hand  a  paint-brush.  Denning  vaulted 
from  his  machine. 

"Why,  Miss  West!"  he  cried,  face  up- 
turned. "What  are  you  doing  on  top  of 
that  wall  ?  You — ow ! " 

"What's  the  matter?"  I  queried. 

"You're  dripping  paint  on  me,"  he  grum- 
bled, rubbing  his  eyes.  "Green  paint!"  he 
amplified  aggrievedly. 


no        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

"I'm  sorry!"  I  apologized  absently. 
"I'm  afraid  I'll  have  to  call  a  halt  on  this 
picture.  I  can't  seem  to  get  anywhere  with 
it.  Yet  you'd  think  any  one  could  make  a 
picture  of  a  nice  old  farmhouse,  surrounded 
by  three  trees." 

"There's  not  enough  action  in  it  to  keep 
your  attention,"  he  laughed.  "Now,  why 
don't  you  paint  me  ?  Young  man  at  the 
wheel,  hair  blowing,  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing — eh,  what  ?" 

To  his  evident  amusement  he  felt  my 
downward  glance  at  him  freeze  into  a  fixed 
stare.  So  might  a  wildcat  stare  out  of  a 
tree  at  the  prey  that  it  had  stalked. 

"I  will,"  I  said  solemnly.  "You  shall 
pose  for  me.  What  luck  that  I've  got  an- 
other canvas  stretched !" 

I  clapped  my  hands.  I  had  to  drop  the 
brush,  of  course,  to  do  it.  He  picked  up 
my  property,  cleaned  it  with  leaves,  and 
gave  it  back  politely  by  the  handle. 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA        in 

"I've  got  to  get  back  to  luncheon  at  the 
Glendennings',"  he  demurred.  "I  must  get 
to  work  and  put  on  a  tire.  Besides,  you 
can't  paint  really,  can  you?" 

I  tossed  my  head. 

"I'll  show  you  whether  I  can  or  not,"  I 
muttered.  "You're  too  late  now  to  lunch 
with  the  inner  circle.  You  have  no  choice. 
There's  some  chocolate  in  my  bag.  We'll 
eat  that  later.  As  for  the  car,  I'll  help  you 
get  it  out." 

I  gave  a  pull  at  my  skirt  with  my  free 
hand,  preparatory  to  jumping  down. 

"This  is  an  afternoon  dress,"  I  explained. 
"I  wore  it  to  Mrs.  Winslow's  tea  that  day. 
But  I  thought,  as  mother  was  away,  I 
might  as  well  use  it  to  paint  in.  Bloomers 
would  be  better,"  I  ended,  giving  the  skirt 
a  kick.  "Oh,  it  would  be  delicious  to  wear 
bloomers!  Here  goes!"  I  jumped. 

Down  in  the  ditch,  knees  braced,  fore- 
heads throbbing,  our  four  arms  shoved  with 


ii2        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

all  their  ferocious  strength.  The  ditch  was 
not  deep  and  at  the  sixth  attempt  the  car 
consented  to  move. 

"Whew!"  I  exclaimed  when  it  was 
squarely  on  the  road  again,  looking  for  a 
handkerchief,  not  finding  it,  and  using  a 
corner  of  my  skirt  to  mop  my  face.  "Now 
get  in  and  let  me  have  a  look  at  you." 

Head  on  one  side,  I  made  a  careful  scru- 
tiny. 

"Don't  sit  up  so  straight,"  I  ordered. 
"Slump  as  though  you  had  no  back-bone. 
There,  that's  better.  You  can't  have  back- 
bone and  ease  both.  How  heavenly  that 
your  coat  is  gray !  It  brings  out  the  won- 
derful blue  of  your  eyes.  Gray  car,  too! 
Gray  figure,  gray  machine — one  a  part  of 
the  other.  Of  course,  I  can  only  give  your 
general  effect  on  this  small  canvas  if  I  want 
to  get  the  car  in.  But  it's  an  effect  that's 
worth  giving." 

I   spoke  dreamily,  with   caressing  inflec- 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA        113 

tions.  From  his  quizzical  expression  I  knew 
I  had  been  saying  foolish,  extravagant 
things.  When  the  painting  impulse  was  on 
me  I  never  could  curb  my  speech.  It  was 
a  very  intoxication. 

"Push  your  hair  farther  back  from  your 
forehead,"  I  commanded.  "I  want  to  get 
all  the  strength  of  it;  all  the  dignity." 

"White,"  I  continued  my  soliloquy,  for 
that  was  what  it  was.  So  far  as  he  person- 
ally was  concerned,  he  might  just  as  well 
not  have  been  there  at  all.  "With  blue 
veinings,"  I  went  on.  "What  a  pity  I've 
got  to  leave  those  delicate  veinings  out 
and  just  catch  an  impression  of  you  with  a 
dab  of  paint." 

"Am  I  slumped  enough?"  he  asked,  to 
divert  me;  but  I  was  not  to  be  diverted. 

"Never  mind  that  just  now,"  I  admon- 
ished. "I'm  not  thinking  of  anything  at 
this  moment  but  your  head.  I  want  to 
get  the  outline — that  broken  line  of  your 


ii4        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

hair.  It's  radiant,  with  the  sun  on  it,  all 
tossed  up  into  little  gold-brown  waves. 
Some  curly  hair's  effeminate,  but  yours 
is  too  crisp  for  that;  too  decided.  It's 
heavenly  hair  to  paint." 

Five  hours  later  I  was  laying  on  the 
finishing  strokes.  The  sun  was  low  in  the 
west,  yet  my  model  had  not  relinquished 
his  pose.  There  had  been  intervals,  of 
course,  intervals  of  stalk-chewing  and  choc- 
olate-munching; but  these  had  been,  on 
the  whole,  of  brief  duration. 

"It's  finished !"  I  cried  suddenly.  "Don't 
look  yet." 

"Now  may  I  ?"  he  asked  after  an  in- 
terval. 

"No,"  I  prohibited  sharply.  "Yes- 
no — wait!  Oh,  I'm  afraid  to  have  you 
look!" 

He  looked,  of  course. 

"By  George!"  he  said  quickly.  "You 
can  paint !  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  ?" 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA        115 

"I  don't  tell  anybody,"  I  said.  "I  care 
— so  awfully.  You  don't  honestly  think 
it's  a  good  sketch  ?" 

My  bravado  had  deserted  me  and  I 
hung  on  his  scrutiny. 

"It's  corking!"  he  cried.  "Just  look  at 
the  action  in  it !  Why,  that's  a  regular 
fellow;  and  he's  on  the  move  too !  You 
must  get  some  painter  to  give  you  an  opin- 
ion on  this.  How  about  that  Randall 
chap?" 

"Oh,  no,"  I  protested  hastily.  "Not 
Mr.  Randall.  I  wouldn't  have  him  see  it 
for  the  world !  I  don't  think  I  have  talent. 
I  only  do  it  to  express  something  that's 
bottled  up  inside.  Aren't  you  going  to 
put  on  your  tire?" 

"Yes,"  he  said.  "And  then  may  I  take 
you  home  ?" 

"I'd  love  that!"  I  cried  gratefully.  "Our 
second  chauffeur  is  coming  for  me  in  the 
car;  he's  on  his  way  now.  We'll  have  to 


ii6        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

wait  until  he  gets  here;  then  we'll  send 
him  back.  Meantime  I'll  help  you  with 
the  tire;  I've  put  them  on  lots  of  times. 
It's  the  least  I  can  do  after  spoiling  your 
whole  afternoon." 

"You  haven't  spoiled  it,"  he  answered  in 
a  significant  tone. 

While  we  were  working  over  the  tire, 
backs  bent  like  the  backs  of  friendly  cats, 
he  tried  again  to  stir  me  to  the  personal 
note.  But  I  was  far  too  excited  over  my 
achievement. 

When  the  car  had  arrived,  and  we  were 
preceding  it  into  the  sunset,  he  said,  eyes 
front: 

"I  mustn't  forget  to  express  my  grati- 
tude for  the  um-m — extremely  complimen- 
tary things  you've  been  saying  to  me  this 
afternoon." 

"I  haven't!"  I  contradicted  in  indigna- 
tion, adding  anxiously:  "What  things?" 

"About  my  veined,  strong  forehead,"  he 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA        117 

replied  tersely;  "my  wonderful,  blue  eyes; 
my  crisp " 

My  laughter  stopped  him. 

"I  always  rattle  on  like  that  when  I'm 
painting,"  I  explained.  "Pve  done  it  since 
I  was  a  small  child.  It's  idiotic,  isn't  it  ? 
But  it  doesn't  mean  anything  at  all.  It's 
a  sort  of  hypnotic  state  I  get  into.  When  I 
come  to  I  don't  even  remember  what  I've 
said." 

"The  question  is,"  he  demanded,  "who 
gets  the  sketch  ?" 

"May  I  keep  it?"  I  asked. 

"If  you  want  it,"  he  said  as  we  turned 
in  at  our  gate. 

"Will  you  come  in?"  I  asked. 

"Not  to-day,"  he  answered.  "But,  if 
you'll  let  me,  I'll  come  to-morrow." 

He  came  on  Sunday,  and  on  Monday  he 
sent  a  token — rather,  a  token  multiplied 
by  twelve.  The  roses  arrived  in  a  striped 
box  of  tremendous  proportions;  but,  even 


ii8        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

so,  it  had  been  necessary  to  cut  away  one 
end  to  allow  the  powerful,  thorny  stalks  to 
protrude.  Seen  through  glazed  paper,  the 
bright  color  was  tempered  to  an  exquisite 
delicacy  of  hue.  Pillowed  upon  this  love- 
liness lay  a  small  white  envelope,  neatly  ad- 
dressed. No  one  had  ever  sent  me  flowers 
before. 

I  drew  away  the  paper  and  peered  into 
the  box  fearfully,  as  though  gazing  at  an 
infant  that  slept.  Then  I  read  the  card 
and  arranged  the  roses  in  a  vase.  I  had 
not  thought  I  was  interested  in  him.  How 
we  had  frivolled — only  yesterday !  But 
now  I  was  in  another  mood.  For  long 
moments  I  remained  hovering  over  the  ta- 
ble where  the  bold  beauties  stood,  drinking 
in  fragrance  with  nostrils,  lips,  and  eyes. 

Suddenly  I  was  in  a  mysterious  garden, 
dew-besparkled,  laden  with  myriad  sweet 
odors,  filled  with  vivid  flowers  on  swaying 
stalks,  the  opalescent  wings  of  insects — and 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA        119 

the  seductive  song  of  birds.  In  the  midst 
of  this  garden  I  walked  with  one  other.  I 
panted  with  the  bliss  of  it.  I  was  swaying 
with  the  stalks. 

Something  hard  pricked  my  palm.  In  a 
trice  the  garden  had  vanished.  I  lifted  my 
hand  and  found  that  I  had  been  crushing  in 
it  the  envelope  which  held  the  card.  There 
were  some  red  marks  on  the  flesh. 

"I  believe  I'm  falling  in  love!"  I  said, 
with  a  weak  little  laugh.  "How  conve- 
nient! I'm  falling  in  love  with  some  one 
inside  the  walls!" 


Ill 

THE  roses  faded — and  for  several  weeks 
I  saw  their  sender  no  more.  I  had 
my  sketch;  but  even  that  was  only  an 
impression  of  him  upon  whom  my  thoughts 
dwelt.  Emotion  feeds  upon  an  absence  of 
details — especially  that  vague  form  of  it 
which  agitates  a  young  girl's  breast.  It 
was  not  love  that  was  at  the  bottom  of 
the  emotion,  but  the  emotion  that  was  at 
the  bottom  of  what,  with  beating  heart,  I 
thought  I  recognized  as  love.  Whatever  it 
was,  it  had  taken  hold  of  me  and  soothed 
my  turbulence.  I  became  surprisingly  ac- 
quiescent in  everything  that  mother  de- 
manded of  me,  and  found  myself  the  gainer 
by  this  docility.  I  went  wherever  I  was 
told  to  go  and  endeavored  to  behave  ac- 
cording to  instructions. 


120 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA        121 

By  the  time  we  were  ready  to  exchange 
Long  Island  for  Newport  I  had  a  large 
though  sketchy  acquaintance  among  those 
who  were  to  share  in  our  migration.  It 
comprised  nearly  everybody  except  the 
Spencers,  the  Glendennings,  the  Winty 
Athertons,  the  Boltons,  and  a  few  others 
of  their  ilk,  who  remained  consistently 
withdrawn.  I  did  see  the  Bolton  girl  one 
day  getting  some  polo  practice  in  a  field. 
She  handled  her  mallet  with  the  utmost 
skill,  swinging  it  with  long,  sweeping,  pen- 
dulum strokes  of  a  brown  arm,  bare  to  the 
elbow.  Her  hair  was  all  blown,  her  cheeks 
scarlet;  she  sat  her  scampering  pony  like 
a  jockey.  She  looked  like  a  real  girl,  and 
I  wanted  most  awfully  to  meet  her.  I 
found  out  upon  inquiry  that  she  was  fifteen; 
and  that  she  never  went  out  in  the  evening, 
but  had  her  supper  with  her  two  little 
brothers  at  half  past  six. 

There  was  no  lack  of  girls  of  that  age 


122        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

who  did  go  out  to  our  subdebutante  festivi- 
ties. The  Hill  twins,  for  example,  wouldn't 
be  sixteen  until  September.  They  were  the 
two  shoulder  shakers  who  had  been  talking 
with  John  Randall  at  Mrs.  Winslow's  tea. 
Their  mother  had  been  deposed  from  office 
several  months  before  upon  grounds  that 
had  not  failed  to  reach  even  our  juvenile 
ears.  Rumor  had  it  that  negotiations  were 
pending  for  a  successor;  but  meantime 
there  was  nobody  to  look  after  the  twins, 
who  floated  about  as  they  pleased. 

Nobody  looked  after  any  of  us,  really. 
So  long  as  we  frequented  only  certain  houses 
we  were  considered  safe.  We  should  have 
bored  older  people  and  they  had  no  inten- 
tion of  being  bored;  so  they  would  give  us 
the  run  of  the  house  for  the  evening,  and 
take  themselves  off  to  more  congenial  com- 
panionship. After  dinner  there  was  always 
something  to  divert  us  from  any  attempt 
at  acquiring  the  art  of  conversation;  if 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA        123 

not  dancing,  then  an  oily-trick  man,  or  a 
mind-reader,  or  a  singer  of  not  very  nice 
topical  songs. 

We  moved  to  Newport  toward  the  middle 
of  July.  Our  house  here  was  not  so  large 
as  the  Westbury  house,  but  it  was  rather 
more  ponderous.  It  seemed  too  heavy  for 
the  contracted  grounds  upon  which  it  stood. 
There  was  no  space  for  a  garden,  so  our 
flowers  were  forwarded  to  us  from  Long 
Island  several  times  a  week  by  express. 

Whenever  I  thrust  my  nose  out  of  doors 
I  was  in  full  view  of  the  strollers  along  the 
shore  walk.  Everything  we  did  here  was 
done  under  the  public  eye.  The  resort  out- 
did the  suburb  in  gregariousness.  Neither 
mother  nor  her  associates  ever  seemed  to 
feel  the  need  of  being  alone. 

Anybody  to  whom  money  is  no  considera- 
tion can  own  three  houses,  but  nobody  on 
earth  can  have  three  homes.  Having  no 
home,  of  course  we  had  no  home-life.  We 


i24        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

lived  in  other  people's  houses,  and  they  in 
ours.  None  of  us  had  any  household  gods, 
since  such  commodities  do  not  come  in 
triplicate. 

The  luxury  in  the  midst  of  which  I  now 
found  myself  seemed  to  me  harmful  chiefly 
because  of  its  falsification  of  values.  The 
house,  for  example,  instead  of  being  a  means 
to  an  end,  became  an  end  in  itself. 

Existence  was  complicated  by  the  need- 
less elaboration  of  what  intrinsically  was 
simple  enough.  It  was  not  that  we  over- 
dressed— any  girl  who  appeared  in  lace 
and  muslin  on  golf-links  or  tennis-courts 
would  have  been  well  laughed  at;  correct 
sport  attire  for  the  young  consisted  of  the 
plainest  of  white  shirt-waists  and  skirts,  but 
when  it  came  to  crispness  and  starchiness 
you  might  go  to  any  lengths  uncriticised. 

Mother  insisted  that  I  should  change 
oftener  than  the  most  fastidious  standard 
of  personal  cleanliness  could  possibly  have 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA        125 

demanded.  Every  time  I  turned  round 
there  stood  Yvonne  holding  out  a  fresh 
white  skirt  for  me  to  put  on.  Serviceable- 
ness,  for  which  such  garments  were  designed, 
thus  gave  place  to  style,  a  term  having 
meaning  in  one  small  stratum  of  society, 
but  without  signification  to  the  rest  of  the 
world. 

I  should  think  it  would  have  enraged 
the  laundresses,  of  whom  there  were  three 
in  our  laundry,  to  be  obliged  to  go  through 
the  whole  process  of  "doing  up"  a  dress 
when  all  it  needed  was  a  little  pressing  to 
take  out  the  creases.  The  idea  was,  I  sup- 
pose, that,  since  they  were  paid  to  work, 
it  made  no  difference  what  work  they  did. 

Of  our  three  abiding-places  Newport  was 
the  least  familiar  to  me,  for  the  nine  weeks 
of  my  family's  sojourn  here  I  had  for  years 
spent  in  a  girls'  camp  in  Maine.  It  was  a 
far  cry  from  that  to  this.  The  transition 
had  taken  my  breath  away.  I  was  given 


126        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

no  pause  to  regain  it.  No  allowance  was 
made  for  any  bewilderment  on  my  part. 
A  routine  was  mapped  out  for  me  and  I  was 
expected  to  follow  it  without  ado.  I  got  up 
late;  for,  once  started  on  the  day,  it  was  one 
long,  dizzying  whirl.  Its  only  quiet  mo- 
ments were  those  relegated  to  the  changing 
of  clothes.  I  now  had  too  much  exercise 
in  conjunction  with  everything  else.  Sleepy 
from  tennis  and  bathing,  I  had  to  sit  up 
and  make  conversation  in  hot,  crowded 
rooms  at  lunch;  black  coffee  stimulated 
me  to  more  exercise  in  the  afternoon;  tea 
restored  my  verve  after  that;  then  came 
dinner,  with  renewed  chatter,  food,  and  cof- 
fee; and  then,  to  finish  off  the  evening, 
dancing !  More  exhausted  than  any  factory 
girl,  I  tumbled  into  bed. 

I  began  almost  at  once  to  form  a  variety 
of  acquaintances  among  the  opposite  sex. 
Some  blew  in  on  yachts  for  a  night;  others 
came  as  visitors  and  stayed  indefinitely. 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA         127 

Few  were  under  twenty,  for  the  boys  of 
our  age  liked  girls  older  or  younger  than  we 
were,  when  they  liked  them  at  all.  Our 
swains  ranged  in  age  from  eighty  to  twenty. 
There  were  retired  rear-admirals  who  still 
danced,  preferably  with  girls  in  their  teens. 
There  were  men  married,  unmarried,  and 
remarried;  there  were  paupers,  "pet  cats," 
and  sudden  millionaires;  there  was  every- 
body who  was  anybody,  and  anybody  who 
had  become  somebody  by  the  magic  of 
money,  through  foreign  alliance,  by  hook 
or  by  crook.  We  had  steel  kings  and  to- 
bacco kings,  soup  kings  and  copper  kings; 
the  only  monarch  who  hadn't  broken  in 
yet  was  the  movie  king,  and  from  latest 
advices  we  were  informed  that  he  was  on 
the  way,  and  was  due  to  arrive  in  another 
five  years  or  so. 

Between  the  girls  who  were  not  "out" 
and  those  who  were  there  was  drawn  a 
strict  line  of  demarcation.  We  were  never 


128        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

invited  to  their  entertainments,  or  they  to 
ours.  But  when  it  came  to  men,  not  one 
was  considered  too  old  or  too  experienced 
for  us  to  associate  with  on  equal  terms. 
Once  they  had  obtained  the  entree,  they 
were  asked  "to  everything."  I  wondered, 
when  I  first  saw  them  standing  about  in 
the  doorways  at  our  very  young  dances, 
what  we,  who  knew  so  little  of  the  world, 
could  possibly  have  to  offer  them.  One 
night  I  found  out. 

It  was  at  a  little  dance  at  the  Hills.  The 
party  was  frankly  "sticky,"  and  everybody 
was  having  a  dull  time  of  it.  The  ballroom 
was  hideously  decorated  in  blue  and  silver, 
with  designs  reminiscent  of  the  calliopes 
in  circus  parades.  There  was  no  angle  at 
which  these  did  not  hit  one  in  the  eye. 
Wherever  one  looked  were  quirks  and  quirls 
innumerable,  Cupids  with  overdeveloped 
stomachs,  and  bow-knots  that  did  not  tie 
anything. 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA        129 

After  one  unsuccessful  effort  to  pilot  him 
round  the  room  I  had  sat  out  two  inter- 
minable dances  with  my  Long  Island  ac- 
quaintance, the  Midnight  Follies  boy,  whose 
name  was  Cyril  Chub,  and  had  come  peri- 
lously near  yawning  right  in  his  pink  and 
placid  face.  Never  to  my  dying  day  should 
I  forget  that  soulless  eye,  that  plastered 
hair,  and  that  perennial  gardenia.  From 
this  extremity  I  was  rescued  by  an  oldish 
man,  whom  I  had  met  on  another  occasion, 
and  invited  to  seek  coolness  somewhere 
outside.  I  was  flattered  at  his  having  re- 
membered me  and  gratefully  accepted, 
though  I  knew  nothing  of  him  but  his  name, 
which  was  Watson.  We  went  out  on  the 
veranda,  but  that  was  too  damp,  he  thought; 
so  we  adjourned  to  the  conservatory,  a 
green  and  bowery  spot  most  grateful  to 
me  after  the  glare  of  the  lights  inside. 

I  expressed  my  satisfaction  and  drew  his 
attention  to  the  beauty  of  a  great  palm, 


130        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

with  drooping  fronds.  We  got  to  talking 
about  flowers  and  I  told  him  how  I  loved 
them.  Then  he  began  comparing  girls  to 
flowers;  and  I  thought  that  sounded  rather 
silly,  but  put  it  down  to  an  older  point  of 
view.  When  I  was  fifty  or  sixty,  no  doubt 
I,  too,  should  be  sentimentalizing  over  the 
freshness  and  innocence  of  that  youth  which 
I  was  so  matter-of-fact  about  just  now. 
Still,  it  was  tiresome  of  him  to  continue 
harping  on  this  subject,  with  lowered  voice 
and  bated  breath. 

I  had  no  idea  there  was  anything  per- 
sonal about  it,  however,  until  his  flowery 
language  suddenly  ceased  and  I  distinctly 
felt  something  touch  my  bare  arm.  I  could 
not  believe  that  my  senses  had  not  played 
me  false;  and,  drawing  every  muscle  taut, 
I  waited,  absolutely  still.  Then  I  heard 
in  an  insinuating  whisper: 

"Don't  be  frightened,  Little  One.  I'm 
not  going  to  hurt  you.  I'm  only  helping 


13* 

you  to  wake  up !  You've  got  to  begin 
sometime,  you  know!" 

In  one  bound  I  was  out  of  that  wicker 
chair.  Luckily  there  was  light  enough  to 
see  the  open  door.  If  there  hadn't  been  I 
believe  I  should  have  crashed  right  through 
the  glass. 

In  all  my  life  nothing  had  ever  so  out- 
raged and  surprised  me  as  this  episode. 
As  a  result,  I  suddenly  hated  and  distrusted 
all  men — Allan  Denning  not  excepted.  John 
Randall  alone  escaped.  I  did  not  think  of 
him  at  all.  The  bubble  of  my  youthful 
self-sufficiency  had  burst.  There  was  no 
gas  left  in  my  balloon.  I  wanted  some- 
body to  take  care  of  and  comfort  me. 

Mrs.  Barton  Winslow  sat  among  the 
patronesses,  soignee,  exquisite,  the  woman 
of  fashion  from  the  tip  of  her  small,  white- 
crowned  head  to  the  toe  of  her  slipper,  but 
more,  far  more  than  that  when  you  looked 
at  her  eyes — dark  eyes,  mirroring  life — 


132        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

human  eyes  !  .  .  .  Oh,  if  I  could  have  con- 
fided in  her.  .  .  .  Instead,  I  went  up  to  her, 
extended  the  tips  of  my  fingers,  murmured 
something  about  being  tired,  and  left. 

A  thin  line  of  light  underneath  mother's 
door  showed  me  that  she  was  within.  Sadly 
I  passed  it;  for  mother  had  failed  me. 
She  had  sent  me  forth  unprepared  and 
unwarned. 

In  my  own  room  I  sobbed  for  hours, 
flung  athwart  my  bed.  At  last  I  slept, 
very  heavily.  In  the  morning  I  woke, 
stiff  and  weary,  last  night's  melting  suc- 
ceeded by  an  exaggerated  and  deplorable 
cynicism.  Since  there  was  no  one  to  take 
care  of  me,  it  behooved  me  in  future  to 
take  care  of  myself.  This  I  thenceforth 
did — a  little  too  well.  I  thought  I  saw  a 
devil  lurking  in  ambush  behind  every  mas- 
culine face;  for  there  is  no  disillusion  com- 
parable in  poignancy  and  passion  to  'the 
disillusion  of  extreme  youth. 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA        133 

The  hours,  with  their  overlapping  en- 
gagements, hurried  confusedly  along,  and 
I  hurried  with  them.  In  Allan's  absence  I 
continued  to  include  him  in  my  sweeping 
distrust  of  men.  I  did  not  know  when  he 
was  coming,  or  whether  he  were  ever  com- 
ing. Meantime  I  rushed  from  one  activity 
to  another.  If  anybody  asked  me  to  play 
golf  or  tennis,  I  played;  wherever  I  was 
bidden  to  lunch,  tea,  or  dinner,  I  went. 
Mother  arranged  my  engagements,  Yvonne 
dressed  me  for  them,  and  the  chauffeur 
conveyed  me  to  the  designated  spot.  The 
more  keyed  up  I  got  from  overdoing,  the 
more  I  overdid.  Society  had  harnessed  me 
to  its  chariot,  a  poor  little  three-year-old 
colt,  without  full  strength  of  wind  or  limb. 

Then,  one  day,  Allan  turned  up.  No 
sooner  had  I  laid  my  hand  in  his  and  looked 
into  his  eyes,  than  I  found  myself,  by  sheer 
force  of  reaction,  more  than  ever  under  the 
spell.  "All  men  are  liars,"  I  had  thought. 


134        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

Now  I  said:  "All  men  are  liars — except 
one." 

During  this  period  John  Randall  did  not 
exist  for  me.  Ever  since  I  had  turned  my 
back  on  him,  and  run  straight  into  the 
arms  of  Allan  Denning,  the  bolder  image 
of  the  latter  had  usurped  his  place  upon 
my  mental  retina.  The  young  painter  had 
been  the  unattainable  moon;  Allan  Den- 
ning was  the  coin,  which,  held  close  to  my 
eye,  served  to  blot  that  moon  out  of  my 
field  of  vision. 

One  night,  however,  the  coin  was  struck 
aside  and  the  moon  shone  once  more  in 
the  midnight  sky.  It  was  at  a  vaudeville 
performance  at  one  of  the  houses.  Allan 
was  sitting  beside  me.  He  did  not  honor 
many  of  our  subdebutante  dinners  with 
his  adult  presence,  but  he  often  dropped 
in  afterward  to  applaud  good-naturedly 
whatever  entertainment  was  on  for  the 
latter  portion  of  the  evening. 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA        135 

On  this  occasion  it  was  acrobats.  Upon 
an  improvised  platform  a  delicately  mus- 
cular fellow,  in  tights,  was  awaiting,  lithe 
and  watchful  as  a  panther,  the  moment 
for  his  leap  onto  the  shoulders  of  a  colleague. 
There  was  something  in  the  set  of  his  lips, 
the  concentration  of  his  eye,  that  vividly 
suggested  the  young  painter  and  curiously 
clutched  at  my  heart.  The  leap  was  made; 
more  than  the  usual  polite  applause  fol- 
lowed— even  this  assemblage  had  not  es- 
caped a  thrill. 

He  who  had  evoked  it  deserved  no  less; 
spurred  on  by  merciful  necessity  to  sweat 
and  strive,  he  had  evaded  softness,  a  quality 
warranted  to  make  of  whatever  it  touched 
that  had  once  been  young  and  glorious  a 
thing  all  gone  to  rot — decadent  and  mean. 
From  the  boy's  thin,  streaming  face  my 
eyes  turned  to  Allan.  He  was  clapping, 
heavy-handed;  complacently  calling  out: 
"  Bravo ! "  With  a  shock  I  wondered  whether 


136        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

it  were  possible  that  he  would  one  day  be 
fat! 

I  dreamed  feverishly  of  John  Randall, 
clad  in  cheap  pink  tights. 

As  luck  would  have  it,  the  very  next  day 
Mrs.  Winslow  invited  me  to  lunch,  to  see 
her  portrait,  which  had  been  all  this  time 
getting  framed,  and  had  just  arrived  from 
Long  Island. 

I  was  taken  to  the  drawing-room  to  wait. 
With  my  foot  on  the  threshold,  I  was  ar- 
rested by  the  direct  gaze  of  a  pair  of  gentle, 
yet  burning  eyes.  The  portrait  hung  over 
the  mantel,  directly  opposite  the  door. 
The  canvas  was  not  very  large.  It  showed 
Mrs.  Winslow  sitting  at  ease  upon  a  sofa 
with  plenty  of  give  to  it,  and  took  in  the 
knees.  She  was  in  a  simple  tea-gown  that 
fell  in  loose  folds  about  her;  her  delicate 
neck,  the  poise  of  her  exquisite  head,  with 
its  piled-up  white  hair — ah,  with  what 
appreciation  had  they  been  reproduced ! 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA        137 

With  high  courage,  Randall  had  dared  to 
put  in  every  line  he  saw  in  that  face  of  a 
woman  approaching  sixty;  not  one  had 
been  omitted.  The  result  was  that  he  had 
portrayed  the  dignity,  the  nobility,  that 
only  years  can  give;  and  proved  that  truth 
is  beauty — beauty,  truth. 

So  compelling,  so  intense,  was  the  quiet 
of  that  seated  figure,  that  it  made  all  the 

little  things  with  which  my  brain  had  been 

t 

so  busy  fall  away  at  once,  leaving  my  spirit 
reverent  and  hushed.  So  absorbed  was  I  in 
my  contemplation  that  I  did  not  hear  Mrs. 
Winslow  come  in.  I  started  when  I  felt 
her  hand  on  my  shoulder,  and  turned,  with 
a  smile.  But  I  could  not  speak  for  a  min- 
ute, because — just  as  they  did  when  I  was 
listening  to  music — my  eyes  had  filled  with 
tears. 

"There's  not  much  doubt  as  to  what 
you  think  of  it,"  said  my  hostess,  adding 
quietly:  "I  learned  to  know  John  Randall 


138        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

well  during  the  sittings,  and  to  value  him 
highly  as  a  friend." 

Upon  this  opening  might  have  ensued 
confidences  that  would  have  changed  the 
whole  course  of  this  narrative,  but  for  the 
fact  that  at  this  inopportune  moment  Ruth 
Alvord  came  dawdling  in. 

The  following  afternoon  Mrs.  Winslow 
exhibited  the  portrait  by  means  of  a  tea. 
From  four  o'clock  on  her  house  was  jammed. 
The  portrait  took  Newport  by  storm.  For 
the  rest  of  the  season,  at  least,  the  young 
artist's  name  would  be  on  every  tongue. 
Why  wasn't  he  present  ?  a  hundred  voices 
demanded.  I  made  spurious  criticisms  of 
him  to  myself.  He  ought  to  have  come, 
I  argued,  even  if  only  out  of  curiosity.  It 
must  be  an  affectation — this  seeming  indif- 
ference as  to  whether  thumbs  turned  up  or 
down.  Nobody  could  really  be  so  cool  as  that. 

Deep  down  inside  I  knew  well  enough 
that  the  reason  John  Randall  refused  to  em- 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA        139 

brace  his  big  opportunity  was  on  account 
of  nothing  more  important  than  myself. 
He  wished  still  to  avoid  me.  Out  of  pique 
or  out  of  embarrassment — what  matter, 
since  he  had  not  come  ? 

Memory  stands  a  poor  chance  in  com- 
petition with  the  actual  presence  of  a  de- 
lightful, assiduous  and  constant  companion, 
such  as  Denning.  We  were  "Allan"  and 
"Barbara"  now;  we  swam  together  every 
morning,  played  golf  every  afternoon.  A 
girl  does  want  some  man  after  having  been 
with  spinsters  all  her  life,  and  here  was  a 
very  charming  one  who  was  ever  within 
call.  Yet,  even  in  his  company,  I  was 
subject  to  moods  of  taciturnity  and  ab- 
straction. 

"You  look  so  unsatisfied  sometimes!" 
he  commented  one  day,  leaning  on  his  club, 
throat  bare,  sun  glinting  on  his  hair.  "I 
believe  you  still  worry  like  the  devil  about 
being  made  to  come  out." 


i4o        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

"I  do — often,"  I  admitted  gravely. 

For  a  while  he  regarded  me  in  silence. 

"If  you  became  a  highbrow,"  he  then 
said  whimsically,  "what  I  want  to  know 
is:  Where  should  I  come  in?" 

My  heart  thumped  agreeably. 

"I  didn't  know  you  wanted  to  come  in!" 
I  stammered. 

His  smile  went  out. 

"You  bet  I  do!"  he  said  in  his  deep, 
vibrant  voice.  "Why,  I've  told  you  a 
dozen  times  I'd  never  met  any  one  like 
you !  We  don't  grow  'em  round  here.  And 
now  you  talk  about  deserting  us !  Don't 
you  think  that's  rather  hard  ?" 

My  eye  sought  the  horizon  at  the  end  of 
the  wide  sweep  of  green.  He  must  have 
noticed  its  wistfulness,  for  he  said  con- 
solingly : 

"/  understand  exactly  how  you  feel. 
But,  unfortunately,  I'm  not  your  mother ! 
The  plain  fact  is,  you're  up  against  it. 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA        141 

You  don't  know  women  with  social  am- 
bitions as  well  as  I  do.  You  might  talk 
yourself  blue  in  the  face — she  wouldn't 
give  in.  She  knows  what  she  wants,  and 
she  wants  what  she  wants,  when  she  wants 
it !  There's  the  whole  thing  in  a  nutshell. 
Why  not  succumb  with  a  good  grace  ?  No 
rows — smooth  sailing — lots  of  laughs  on 
the  side — somebody  to  laugh  with — me  ! 
Is  that  such  a  ghastly  prospect  ?  Don't 
take  it  so  seriously !  Why,  you're  almost 
as  serious  as  she  is !  Come  on !  Be  a  sport ! 
Play  the  game!" 

At  seventeen  you  don't  refuse  to  be  a 
sport,  any  more  than  you  refuse  to  take  a 
dare.  And  the  accusation  of  seriousness 
is  a  serious  accusation,  carrying  with  it 
the  opprobrious  implication  of  lack  of  a 
sense  of  humor.  Besides,  an  exceedingly 
attractive  young  man,  who  intimates  that 
he  is  in  love  with  you,  is  an  influential 
factor  in  any  situation. 


H2        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

"Oh,  very  well!"  I  said  gayly,  though 
my  spirit  was  troubled.  "I  don't  care. 
I'll  see  it  through." 

The  first  of  these  statements  was  a  lie. 
I  did  care,  terribly.  The  second  was  a 
pledge.  The  importance  that  I  was  to 
attach  to  that  pledge  was  evidence  that  I 
was  incurably  serious  after  all.  In  Allan 
Denning  mother  had  gained  a  powerful  ally. 

Two  days  later  Mrs.  Winslow  was  one  of 
the  guests  at  a  luncheon  of  women  at  our 
house.  I  was  "down";  and  as  soon  as 
opportunity  offered  she  whispered  in  my 
ear: 

"He's  coming  after  all.  I  persuaded 
him.  He's  sailing  himself  up  from  New 
York  in  his  own  boat.  He  ought  to  be 
here  to-day." 

I  paled  and  all  my  pulses  thumped. 

Mrs.  Winslow  introduced  John  Randall 
to  Newport  at  an  evening  reception.  I  was 
there  by  her  special  request. 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA        143 

He  shrank  at  sight  of  me;  but  I  went 
straight  up  to  him,  where  he  stood  under 
the  portrait,  and  held  out  my  hand. 

"I  can't  tell  you,"  I  said  slowly,  with 
look  upturned  to  it,  "how  picayune,  how 
idiotic,  in  the  light  of  this,  I  seem  to  myself 
for  having  resented  your  resentment  with 
me — about  the  letter " 

A  warm  glow  suffused  his  face. 

"It  was  only  because  I  couldn't  bear  to 
think  of  it  that  I  was  so  cross,"  he  said, 
boyishly  eager.  "Of  their  beginning  the — 
metamorphosis  stuff,  you  know.  But  now 
I  see  I  was  wrong.  They  haven't  touched 
you!  You're  the  very  same  girl  I  met 
that  night."  , 

I  started  away  from  him,  wide-eyed. 

"I  don't  think  I  am,"  I  said  uneasily. 
"You  only  get  that  impression  because 
I'm  still  able  to  recognize  inspiration  in  a 
picture  when  I  see  it." 

He  smiled. 


144        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

"Any  one  would  be  a  fool,"  he  averred, 
"not  to  draw  inspiration  from  such  a  sub- 
ject." 

Somebody  came  up  to  him  just  then, 
after  which  Mrs.  Winslow  brought  others, 
and  presently  he  was  surrounded — obliter- 
ated from  my  view — closed  in.  For  the 
next  two  hours  he  was  at  the  mercy  of  the 
throng.  They  would  hardly  permit  him 
to  breathe. 

When  the  crowd  had  begun  to  thin  out 
he  found  me  again. 

"Thank  the  Lord  that's  over!"  he  said, 
with  a  heartfelt  sigh. 

I  laughed. 

"How  brown  you  are!"  I  commented. 
"I  never  knew  a  painter  could  be  so  brown. 
What  fun  it  must  have  been,  sailing  up ! 
I'd  love  so  to  sail." 

"Come  sailing  with  me  to-morrow!"  he 
flashed. 

I  shook  my  head,  wondering  what  to  tell 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA        145 

him.  He  should  never  know  of  the  friction 
that  had  occurred  between  myself  and 
mother  on  his  account.  I  was  glad  now 
that  he  had  not  divined  her  attitude  toward 
him.  With  these  thoughts  in  mind  I  was 
completely  taken  aback  by  his  next  words. 

"Your  mother's  been  awfully  kind  to- 
night," he  said  appreciatively.  "Said  how 
much  she  liked  the  portrait;  asked  me  to 
dine  week  after  next,  and  to  tea  on  Tues- 
day." 

This  change  of  front  on  mother's  part 
took  my  breath  away.  It  hadn't  mattered 
that  I  had  vouched  for  this  man  out  of  the 
depths  of  my  being,  with  everything  in  me 
that  intuitively  recognized  what  he  was; 
she  had  forbidden  our  association  just  the 
same.  What  had  altered  her  decision  ? 
Mrs.  Winslow.  Whom  Mrs.  Winslow  ac- 
cepted, it  was  meet  that  Mrs.  West  should 
accept.  There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to 
get  in  line  with  the  other  sheep.  Of  my 


146        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

thoughts  I  showed  nothing,  but  said 
eagerly: 

"I  hope  you're  coming!" 

"Of  course  I  am!"  was  his  prompt  reply. 
"Meantime,  what  about  that  sail  ?  Come 
on !  Fll  get  you  back  in  a  couple  of  hours. 
I  swear  I  will ! " 

I  beamed.  There  was  nothing  now  to 
stand  in  the  way  of  my  accepting. 

"It'll  be  wonderful!"  I  cried. 

We  looked  at  each  other,  radiant.  Then 
suddenly  the  sun  went  out.  I  had  re- 
membered an  engagement.  How  came  it 
that  it  had  slipped  my  mind  ? 

"I  forgot,"  I  said.  "I  can't.  I've  got 
to  play  golf  at  half  past  three." 

"Too  bad!"  Randall  replied.  "Oh,  well; 
never  mind." 

His  disappointment  was  evident,  from 
his  eyes  all  the  way  down  to  the  sensitive 
tip  of  his  chin.  I  found  myself  unaccount- 
ably contrasting  that  chin  with  Denning's. 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA        147 

That  the  latter  had  allowed  his  to  forfeit 
something  of  its  natural  contours  outraged 
my  artistic  sense.  Adonis  he  was,  beyond 
question;  but  Adonis  "to  date,"  a  little 
blunted  as  to  edges — a  few  pounds  over- 
weight. 

"Have  you  been  doing  any  painting?" 
he  asked,  with  an  effort,  after  a  pause. 
"You  have!  I  can  read  guilt  in  your  eyes. 
Confess!" 

I  blushed  furiously.  If  he  should  dis- 
cover that  my  golf  partner  and  the  subject 
of  my  sketch  were  one  and  the  same,  it 
would  spoil  our  fresh  start. 

"Only  one  sketch,"  I  deprecated.  "Noth- 
ing at  all.  I  finished  it  in  a  day." 

Glancing  toward  the  door  at  this  juncture 
I  saw  two  or  three  late  arrivals  who  had 
just  come  on  from  somewhere  else.  Allan 
was  one  of  them.  He  joined  us  at  once, 
turned  to  Randall,  offered  congratulations 
and  shook  hands.  How  charmingly  cordial 


148        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

was  his  manner!  No  reminiscence  in  it  of 
that  cool  stare  with  which  he  had  looked 
him  over  at  their  first  meeting.  Was  this 
change  due  to  the  recognition  of  genius, 
or  could  it  be  that  he,  too,  was  one  of  the 
sheep  ?  Instantly  dismissing  this  suspicion, 
I  yet  wished  he  had  been  endowed  with 
foresight  rather  than  hindsight.  He  ought 
to  have  recognized  at  a  glance  the  quality 
of  that  face.  ...  I  had  ! 

"I  only  dropped  in  for  a  minute,"  Allan 
said.  "Good  night,  Barbara.  Don't  for- 
get our  match  to-morrow,  will  you  ?  Three- 
thirty.  And  do  show  Mr.  Randall  that 
sketch  you  did  of  me.  She  did  a  cracking 
sketch  of  me,  Mr.  Randall.  Get  her  to 
show  it  to  you.  Make  her !" 

He  was  off,  and  Randall  and  I  were  left 
uncomfortably  together.  I  knew  what  that 
line  in  his  forehead  meant,  that  almost  imper- 
ceptible quiver  of  the  chin.  He  was  drawing 
deductions  at  the  rate  of  a  million  a  minute. 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA        149 

"Please,"  I  besought  him,  in  acute  dis- 
tress, "stop  thinking — what  you  are  think- 
ing !  I  might  just  as  well  have  sketched 
anybody.  He  happened  along  just  when 
I  wanted  to  sketch.  When  I  want  to  sketch 
I  sketch  anything  that  comes  along. 
I " 

From  these  verbal  involutions  I  was 
rescued  by  mother,  who,  approaching, 
wished  Mr.  Randall  good  night  with  the 
utmost  cordiality,  and  said  it  was  time  to 
take  me  home. 

When  I  laid  my  hand  in  his,  something 
in  his  expression  reminded  me  of  the  way 
Miss  Wier  had  looked  when  she  had  come 
upon  me  in  my  dinky  little  hat. 

Tuesday  came  without  my  having  caught 
sight  of  him  again.  That  afternoon  my  game 
was  unspeakable,  I  was  so  afraid  of  not 
getting  through  before  five.  Luckily  Allan 
was  due  somewhere  else  at  tea-time;  so  we 
only  played  nine  holes.  In  his  absence  I 


i5o        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

was  sure  of  an  opportunity  for  a  frank  talk 
with  Randall  that  would  clear  things  up. 

Arrived  at  home,  I  waited  confidently; 
and  he  didn't  come.  After  everybody  had 
been  sitting  round  for  hours,  the  door-bell 
rang.  I  heard  soft  sounds,  as  of  things 
being  laid  down  on  a  table. 

"It  is  he,  after  all !"  I  thought,  exuberant. 

It  wasn't  he.     It  was  Allan ! 

One  moment  of  blank  disappointment; 
and  then  a  lightning  chemical  transforma- 
tion of  all  the  ingredients  of  that  disap- 
pointment— the  chief,  hurt  pride — into  over- 
whelming gratitude  toward  a  friend  who 
never  failed. 

"I  thought  you  weren't  coming  to-day," 
I  whispered.  "I  thought  you  were  going 
to  have  tea  with  the  Glynn  Rollinses." 

Before  answering,  he  bent  so  close  that 
in  one  moment  I  seemed  to  feel  the  pres- 
sure of  his  lips  upon  mine. 

"I've  had  tea  with  the  Glynn  Rollinses," 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA        151 

he  said,  implying  that  the  Glynn  Rollinses 
were  powerless  to  hold  him  long  away  from 
me.  "And  now  I'm  going  to  have  more 
tea,"  he  added  comfortably,  "with  you." 

He  chatted  for  a  while  with  mother,  who 
handed  it  to  him,  and  with  the  other  guests; 
and  then  we  went  and  sat  on  a  remote  sofa. 
He  was  not  only  in  high  spirits  but  he  was 
most  awfully  good-looking  in  golf  clothes. 
Some  day  I  would  sketch  him  like  that — 
one  leg  thrown  over  the  other;  hair  all 
crisped  and  kinked  with  fog;  teacup  in 
hand.  I  would  sketch  him  forty  ways  and 
show  all  the  sketches  to  John  Randall,  just 
to  see  him  wince — for  so  reckless  was  my 
mood  that  I  delighted  in  the  thought  of 
hurting. 

He  began  gossiping  about  people;  I  re- 
sponded. It  was  a  form  of  diversion  I 
despised;  but  my  ideas  were  all  out  of 
kilter  this  afternoon — and  it  required  so 
little  effort.  He  laughed  at  some  rumor  I 


152        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

retailed.  I  followed  it  up  with  another 
choice  bit;  he  laughed  again,  and  the  more 
he  laughed,  the  hotter  my  cheeks  flamed — 
the  more  excitedly  and  incoherently  I 
talked. 

"  Do  you  know,"  he  commented,  suddenly 
slapping  his  knee,  "I've  never  known  you 
to  let  yourself  go  like  this  before !  By 
George !  You're  waking  up  !" 

At  this  expression,  I  stared  at  him.  Could 
it  be  true  ?  "I'm  only  helping  you  to  wake 
up,"  had  hissed  the  serpent.  "You've  got 
to  begin  some  time,  you  know!"  Ah,  how 
soon  I  had  begun ! 

That  night  a  formidable  dinner  occurred 
at  our  house,  and  I  entered  the  drawing- 
room  amid  a  loud  hubbub  of  indignant 
talk  issuing  from  a  medley  of  dowagers, 
diamonds  and  fans,  all  in  motion.  No 
strikers  gathered  on  a  street-corner  could 
have  given  more  unmistakable  evidence  of 
indignant  agitation.  The  men  who  were 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA        153 

there  did  not  say  anything;  they  let  the 
women  talk. 

A  single  name  was  on  everybody's  tongue 
— the  name  of  the  new  lion.  It  appeared 
that  this  lion,  instead  of  submitting  to 
being  decorated  with  garlands  by  soft  hands, 
had  shown  his  teeth.  In  plain  English, 
devoid  of  metaphor,  John  Randall  had 
actually  dared,  without  a  word  of  explana- 
tion to  anybody,  to  give  Newport  the  slip. 
Taking  advantage  of  the  lasting  qualities 
of  the  breeze,  which  my  weather-eye  had 
foretold,  he  had  unfastened  his  moorings  at 
Mrs.  Winslow's  dock  that  very  afternoon 
and  sailed  away  into  the  sunset  in  his  little 
catboat. 

Enter  cocktails — exit  girl.  That  was  my 
programme.  That  night  I  thought  the 
cocktails  would  never  come!  Snatches  of 
talk  reached  my  ears. 

"No — he  never  promised  to  begin  carry- 
ing out  his  orders  here;  but,  of  course, 


154        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

everybody  assumed  he  would.  No  manners  ! 
.  .  .  Doesn't  know  how  things  are  done. 
.  .  .  Hasn't  any  breeding.  .  .  .  The  orders 
will  stand,  but  this  thing  will  kill  him  so- 
cially, of  course ! " 

At  the  risk  of  mother's  displeasure,  I 
made  my  escape  while  yet  no  cocktails 
were  in  sight.  I  had  no  defense  of  Randall 
to  make.  He  had  been  frightfully  rude  to 
me.  He  must  have  heard  further  rumors 
regarding  my  relations  with  Allan.  But 
he  had  cared  rather  magnificently — enough 
to  get  himself  in  bad  with  the  high  muck- 
amucks  who  could  have  made  him.  I 
could  not  be  very  angry  with  him.  He 
was  free  to  get  out.  I,  alas !  was  bound — 
by  my  promise,  by  my  pledge — to  "see 
the  thing  through." 

The  walls  closed  in  on  me  that  night, 
shutting  the  vistas  out.  How  silly  I  had 
been  to  imagine  that  I  could  have  my  cake 
and  eat  it  too;  play  both  ends  against  the 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA        155 

middle !  Life  was  not  like  that.  You  had 
to  stand  for  one  thing  or  another.  Out 
on  the  links  that  day,  looking  into  Allan's 
eyes,  I  had  renounced  my  rebellion — de- 
cided to  accept  present  conditions.  That, 
not  this,  was  my  true  moment  of  choice. 
From  that  moment  on  I  threw  my  hands  up 
and  drifted  with  the  tide.  The  die  was 
cast. 

In  the  mornings  the  sea  was  so  blue  and 
it  was  such  fun  to  have  a  merman  to  swim 
with,  and  in  the  afternoons  the  golf-course 
was  so  green,  and  it  was  so  stimulating  to 
have  a  partner  to  play  with,  that  I  swept 
all  the  disturbing  thoughts  into  the  back 
of  my  mind,  where  they  lay  in  a  disordered 
heap,  inviting  dust.  There  was  no  doubt 
that  having  two  grown-up  men  show  in- 
terest in  me  had  gone  to  my  head  a  little. 
None  of  the  other  girls  of  seventeen  had 
anybody  so  old  to  bother  about. 

My  instrument  was  keyed  too  high.     By 


156        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

September  I  started  at  every  sound.  If  a 
door  slammed  it  seemed  to  slam  in  the  top 
of  my  head;  the  slightest  stimulus  was 
sufficient  to  set  in  motion  the  vibrations  of 
my  emotional  reactions.  One  night  I  caught 
a  look  in  Allan's  eyes — those  eyes  so 
supremely  blue,  so  heavily  fringed;  and 
his  hand  pressed  mine.  He  whispered 
the  three  fateful  words,  and  our  lips  met. 
.  .  .  Nothing  else  was  possible;  for  I 
was  in  love  with  him — madly  in  love ! 

Straight  from  his  arms  I  went  to  mother, 
unafraid  to  break  in  on  her  privacy,  bold 
with  the  boldness  of  a  messenger  who  brings 
welcome  tidings,  to  be  delivered  anywhere, 
anyhow — even,  like  this,  in  the  middle  of 
the  night. 

She  was  in  bed,  with  her  hair  strewn  all 
about  the  pillow.  By  the  shaded  bedside 
light  she  looked  very  beautiful,  yielding  and 
young.  Eager  and  smiling,  I  approached 
and  took  the  hand  that  lay,  slender  and 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA        157 

very  white,   against   the   soft  whiteness  of 
the  blanket. 

"Oh,  mother!"  I  whispered.  "It's  come!" 
I  expected  she  would  understand  at  once; 
so    I    was    surprised    when    she    returned 
blankly: 

"What  do  you  mean  ?    What  has  come  ?" 
Embarrassed,    but    still   confident,    I    let 
her  hand  fall  and  returned  shyly: 
"Can't  you  guess?    I'm  engaged!" 
At  that  she  gathered  herself  up  in  bed 
as   an   animal   gathers   itself  for   a   spring, 
and  I  stepped  back  in  terror. 

"What  are  you  talking  about?"  she  de- 
manded in  a  voice  that  cut  like  the  lash 
of  a  whip. 

Only  one  thing  could  account  for  it;  she 
suspected  that  John  Randall  was  the  man. 
Her  tone,  her  manner,  hurt  just  as  much 
as  though  he  had  been.  How  could  any 
older  woman  make  any  young  girl  shrink 
and  quiver  away  from  her  like  that  ? 


i$8        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

I  wanted  to  gather  this  big  thing  that 
had  happened  to  me  to  my  breast  and  run 
away  with  it;  but  it  was  too  late. 

"It's  not  the  man  you  think,"  I  said 
painfully.  "It's — Allan  Denning." 

To  my  amazement,  the  name  did  not 
placate  her. 

"Nonsense!"  she  retorted  sharply.  "I 
never  heard  of  such  nonsense  in  my  life ! " 

I  could  not  believe  my  ears. 

"I  thought  you'd  be  pleased,"  I  said. 
"I  thought  you  were  crazy  about  him! 
You've  always  thrown  him  in  my  way." 

"To  give  you  social  confidence!"  she 
cried.  "To  bring  you  to  people's  attention ! 
That  was  what  he  was  for!  To  insure  you 
a  start!" 

Something  turned  to  iron  inside  me  at 
these  words.  I  no  longer  shrank;  I  had 
lost  all  sensation  of  timidity. 

"You  expected  me  to  work  him  for  all 
he  was  worth — to  squeeze  him  dry,  and 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA        159 

then  to  throw  him  over!"  I  summed  up. 
"I  see!" 

"You  won't  gain  anything,'*  she  warned, 
"  by  distorting  my  words.  I  didn't  say  any- 
thing about  working  or  squeezing.  Those 
graphic  expressions  are  your  own.  Allan 
Denning  has  done  just  exactly  what  he 
wanted  to  do.  And  in  the  end  he's  amused 
himself  by  flirting  with  you  a  little.  If  you 
make  anything  more  of  it  than  that,"  she 
concluded  disparagingly,  "it's  because  you 
know  nothing  whatever  about  life;  you, 
a  mere  schoolgirl — a  baby." 

"I'm  not  so  much  of  a  baby,"  I  replied 
slowly,  "as  you  think.  And  I  know  a  good 
deal  more  about  life — than  I  did.  If  you 
imagine  that  you  can  start  things  going 
and  then — then — make  them  stop — by  just 
putting  up  your  hand,  like  a  policeman 
regulating  traffic — why,  then,  it  seems  to 
me  it's  you  who  don't  know  about  life — 
that's  all!" 


160        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

From  the  silence  which  followed  I  saw  that 
my  words  had  begun  to  carry  conviction. 

"How  far,"  she  asked  at  length,  in  great 
agitation,  "has  this  actually  gone?" 

"I've  just  told  you,"  I  answered.  "We're 
engaged.  He's  going  to  speak  to  father 
to-morrow." 

Her  indignation  found  a  new  channel. 

"We'll  see  about  that!"  she  declared 
ominously.  "I  can't  believe  it  of  him!  To 
play  upon  a  young  girl's  ignorance !  To 
impose  upon  her  lack  of  knowledge  of  the 
world!" 

I  smiled  bitterly.  I  had  heard  such 
words  before.  First,  it  had  been  John 
Randall,  and  now  it  was  Allan  Denning 
who  was  imposing  upon  my  inexperience. 

"You  wouldn't  let  me  have  the  man  I 
wanted,"  I  cried;  "and  when  I  take  the 
one  you  substitute  you're  not  satisfied, 
either!  You'll  never  be  satisfied,  no  matter 
what  I  do!" 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA        161 

"Now,  Barbara,"  she  almost  begged, 
"be  reasonable!  It  never  occurred  to  me 
that  you  wouldn't  know  that  Allan  Den- 
ning is  no  match  for  you.  He's  good-look- 
ing and  well  connected  and  convenient  to 
have  about,  and  all  that;  but  he  hasn't 
got  a  cent.  And  as  for  marrying  him — 
Why,  child,  you  haven't  even  begun  to  look 
round  !  Wait  till  after  next  winter.  What 
sort  of  time  do  you  think  any  girl  who  was 
engaged  would  have  when  she  came  out?" 

"I  needn't  come  out — now,"  I  suggested, 
though  I  recognized  the  futility  of  the  sug- 
gestion. 

Mother's  face  turned  to  adamant  and  her 
eyes  to  steel. 

"Whatever  happens,"  she  announced, 
"you  are  coming  out!" 

She  said  it  as  though  she  were  registering 
a  vow  before  heaven. 

For  mother's  manner  of  receiving  the 
news  of  my  engagement  I  had  been  totally 


162        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

unprepared.  I  had  run  to  her  with  it,  ex- 
pecting to  be  praised — and  had  been  in- 
continently rebuffed.  I  was  less  upset  on 
my  own  account  than  on  Allan's.  How 
would  he  take  her  unflattering  estimate  of 
him  as  a  parti  ?  Hard,  I  was  sure.  In 
counselling  me  to  acquiesce  in  her  pro- 
gramme for  the  coming  months,  he  had 
obviously  realized  no  more  than  I,  that  his 
name  was  not  to  appear  upon  it.  Perhaps 
he  would  not  feel  so  convinced  now  of  the 
advisability  of  being  a  sport,  playing  the 
game,  seeing  the  thing  through. 

What  was  my  astonishment,  not  to  say 
chagrin,  when  he  took  my  information 
quite  easily,  and  was  all  for  compromise ! 
You  had  to  be  tactful  with  women  like  my 
mother,  he  said  confidentially.  They  must 
always  be  made  to  think  that  they  were 
getting  their  own  way,  whether  they  ac- 
tually were  or  not.  Nothing  was  to  be 
gained  by  antagonizing  them. 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA        163 

The  following  was  the  policy  he  outlined 
in  council  before  the  concert  of  Powers: 
Not  a  word  concerning  what  had  occurred 
between  us  was  to  be  breathed  until  after 
the  close  of  the  New  York  season.  Only 
we  four  were  to  know  of  it.  If  at  the  be- 
ginning of  March  next  I  should  have  changed 
my  mind,  I  was  to  call  the  whole  thing  off. 
Thus  mother's  arrangements  for  the  winter 
would  not  be  in  any  way  jeopardized.  To  all 
intents  and  for  all  social  purposes  I  was  free. 

Mother  and  father  expressed  themselves 
as  satisfied  and  took  my  silence  for  consent. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  scorned  trial  engage- 
ment as  I  would  have  scorned  trial  mar- 
riage. Like  every  other  girl  of  seventeen, 
I  was  firmly  convinced  that  I  knew  my 
own  mind  and  would  never  change  it.  My 
word  was  my  word — not  a  mere  near-prom- 
ise, subject  to  the  statute  of  limitations. 
The  more  they  said  that  I  was  not  bound, 
the  more  securely  bound  I  felt. 


164        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

I  justified  Allan's  willingness  to  make 
concessions  to  mother  upon  the  ground  of 
his  faith  in  me.  In  staking  his  life's  happi- 
ness upon  his  belief  in  my  fidelity,  he  was 
paying  me  the  highest  tribute  in  his  power. 
Still,  I  felt  that  an  open  rupture  with  my 
parents  would  have  been  the  more  honor- 
able course  to  pursue.  Never  before  had 
there  been  the  smallest  reservation  on  my 
part  in  my  relations  with  mother.  I  had 
argued  with  her,  burst  into  tears,  shown 
temper,  done  all  sorts  of  exuberant  and 
childish  things;  but  I  had  never  for  one 
moment  allowed  her  to  remain  in  any  doubt 
as  to  what  I  meant.  I  had  carefully  re- 
frained from  being  tactful  with  her. 

Now  I  was  letting  her  infer  one  thing 
while  I  intended  another.  Curiously,  it 
was  a  man  who  had  urged  upon  me  this 
Jesuitical  method  of  dealing  with  her.  And 
I  had  always  been  led  to  suppose  that  a  man's 
sense  of  honor  had  a  finer  edge  than  a  girl's  ! 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA        165 

Of  course  I  had  no  business  to  fall  under 
this  or  any  influence  that  was  at  odds  with 
that  something  inside  which  had  always 
kept  me  straight.  That  was  what  I  had 
got  by  drifting.  I  had  drifted  so  far  and  so 
fast  that  I  could  not  make  up  my  mind  to 
turn  about  and  put  up  a  fight.  The  alter- 
native was  just  to  keep  on  going  wherever 
the  wind  and  the  tide  chose  to  take  me. 

The  weather  was  so  mild  that  it  was 
October  before  we  returned  to  Long  Island. 
Once  arrived  there,  we  spent  our  days  in 
the  city  as  before,  going  back  to  the  coun- 
try only  to  dine  and  to  sleep.  In  prepara- 
tion for  what  was  to  come  my  wardrobe 
was  being  amassed.  Mother  concentrated 
upon  this  task  enough  energy  to  have  run 
a  dozen  Bureaus  of  Serbian  Relief.  If  I 
was  expected  to  attend  all  the  types  of 
function  for  which  garments  were  being 
provided  I  thought  I  should  be  a  rag  before 
the  end  of  the  first  six  weeks. 


166        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

She  didn't  buy  me  a  variety  of  dresses, 
hats,  and  coats,  and  let  it  go  at  that.  No; 
every  costume  was  an  equipment  by  itself, 
a  symphony  of  nuance — a  tone  poem.  Each 
afternoon  gown,  for  example,  had  its  ac- 
cessories of  hat,  veil,  gloves,  coat,  fur  neck- 
piece and  muff,  shoes  and  stockings.  Even 
gloves  were  not  interchangeable.  Atten- 
tion to  these  details  consumed  an  exorbitant 
amount  of  time — to  say  nothing  of  money. 
I  remember  we  went  into  nine  shops  one 
day  before  we  found  enamelled  hatpins  of 
the  exact  shade  of  mauve  to  harmonize 
with  a  certain  hat. 

There  seemed  to  be  no  end  to  what 
mother  could  do  when  she  was  doing  what 
she  wanted.  The  vitiated  air  of  the  shops 
stimulated  her.  If  at  first  she  didn't  suc- 
ceed she  asked  nothing  better  than  to  try, 
try  again.  Yet  there  were  things  that  tired 
her.  If  she  walked  for  half  an  hour  along 
a  country  road  she  became  so  exhausted 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA         167 

that  she  had  to  lie  down.  When  her  secre- 
tary was  ill  one  day,  and  she  was  obliged 
to  write  her  own  notes,  she  could  not  eat 
any  lunch.  Loud  or  abrupt  talking  was 
painful  to  her — for  instance,  mine.  When 
I  laughed  "right  out"  I  often  saw  a  little 
frown  come  between  her  brows,  as  though 
I  had  given  her  a  headache. 

Many  of  her  friends  shared  these  idio- 
syncrasies. There  was  Mrs.  Fiske  Wyman, 
for  one,  a  "confirmed"  invalid;  yet  she 
had  just  risen  from  an  almost  permanent 
bed  of  pain,  with  an  alacrity  hardly  decent, 
to  go  yachting  in  the  Bahamas;  while  Miss 
Julia  Endeman,  who  had  weighed  two  hun- 
dred undismayed  and  had  never  exercised 
in  her  life,  had  recently  rolled  her  hips 
away  by  turning  over  and  over  fifty  times 
each  morning  on  her  bedroom  floor,  and 
"gone  in"  for  golf. 

Everybody  was  planning  to  skate  this 
winter  on  the  Radmore  roof — even  those 


i68        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

whom  the  blackest  ice  had  not  tempted  in 
youth,  the  natural  skating  time.  Wabbly 
legs  could  be  strengthened  by  practice, 
weak  ankles  propped;  and  she  who  was 
unable  to  attain  balance  by  herself  might 
always  hire  somebody  to  hold  her  up.  From 
the  dictates  of  fashion  no  infirmity  excused. 
Fashion  made  its  puppets  dance  to  any 
tune.  During  that  autumn,  in  and  out  of 
shops,  I  estimated  that  we  must  have 
walked  a  hundred  miles.  We  never  left 
off  until  the  wax  ladies  in  the  windows 
were  being  covered  with  sheets  and  the 
blinds  drawn  down. 

We  spent  and  were  spent.  What  for  ? 
That  I,  too,  might  be  made  into  a  waxen 
manikin,  set  in  a  window  for  one  season  for 
exhibition  purposes,  and  then  carried  away 
to  make  room  for  fresh  goods.  There  was 
a  career  for  you ! 

I  was  becoming  surfeited  with  clothes. 
Every  girl  loves  clothes,  but  she  does  not 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA        169 

love  a  superfluity  of  them.  I  had  once 
eaten  all  the  caramels  I  wanted,  and  for 
years  thereafter  had  not  been  able  to  look 
at  a  caramel.  As  a  child  I  had  always  ap- 
proached the  park  by  the  Seventy-second 
Street  entrance  on  my  way  to  the  Mall. 
Now  I  sedulously  avoided  that  approach. 
Fifty-ninth  Street  was  all  right,  or  Eighty- 
fifth,  or  Ninetieth;  but  Seventy-second  I 
was  done  with  forever. 

One  disadvantage  of  owning  a  costume 
for  each  occasion  was  the  anticipation  it 
involved.  It  was  bad  enough  to  have  to 
go  to  functions  at  all,  without  focussing 
one's  attention  upon  them  for  hours  before- 
hand. Oh,  for  my  old  rough  serge,  which 
had  served  me  all  day  and  every  day  at 
school  for  as  many  seasons  as  I  could  get 
wear  out  of  it ! 

Sometimes  I  remembered,  with  a  sense 
of  loss,  the  things  in  my  experience  that 
had  been  uncomfortable.  I  had  grumbled 


170        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

as  loudly  as  anybody  else,  at  the  time,  at 
having  to  pile  out  of  bed  half  asleep  on  a 
dark  winter  morning  to  close  my  own  win- 
dows and  stand  shivering  on  a  chilly  floor; 
but  now  I  thought  that  I  would  have  wel- 
comed any  hardness  to  relieve  the  eternal 
softness  of  my  life !  My  bed  was  soft;  my 
food  was  soft;  the  people  about  me  spoke 
in  soft  voices;  there  was  no  edge  to  any- 
thing, no  sparkle,  no  snap. 

My  engagement  had  been  so  qualified 
and  bereft  of  the  natural  attributes  of  an 
engagement  that  it  afforded  me  but  little 
satisfaction.  Allan  lunched  with  us  occa- 
sionally at  Sherry's,  and  that  was  about  all 
I  saw  of  him.  Things  would  be  different  in 
the  spring,  but  I  was  not  so  old  that  spring 
did  not  seem  to  me  a  long  way  off.  And 
there  was  much  to  come,  between  now  and 
then. 

In  preparation  for  the  great  event,  my 
coming-out  ball  on  December  20,  we  closed 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA        171 

the  Long  Island  house  much  earlier  than 
usual,  and  found  ourselves  just  after  Thanks- 
giving, as  mother  said,  "alone"  in  New 
York;  by  which  she  did  not  mean,  of 
course,  that  there  was  not  the  usual  quota 
of  people  in  the  streets.  I  was  satiated 
with  that  ball  long  before  it  occurred,  for 
it  was  the  only  topic  of  conversation.  I 
had  always  supposed  living  in  the  future 
to  be  a  prerogative  of  youth;  but  no  young 
person  I  had  ever  seen  lived  so  much  in 
the  future  as  mother. 

She  took  precautions  against  the  possi- 
bility of  everything  not  being  perfect  in 
every  detail  by  stocking  up  with  commodi- 
ties, as  though  the  sources  of  supply  were 
presently  to  be  forever  cut  off.  Even  an 
awning  was  ordered  to  be  specially  made, 
instead  of  being  hired  from  a  caterer  for 
the  evening.  She  showed  me  samples  of 
awning  cloth  and  looked  reproachful  be- 
cause I  had  no  preference  for  green  and 


172        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

white  stripes  over  red  and  white,  or  vice 
versa.  She  got  another  French  maid,  to 
supplement  Yvonne,  so  that  the  two  might 
work  in  shifts  like  a  night  nurse  and  a  day 
nurse  in  illness — one  being  always  on  hand. 
A  second  butler  was  likewise  procured, 
that  coat  tails,  instead  of  mere  livery,  might 
still  be  in  evidence  before  guests  when  the 
butler  in  chief  was  out  or  sleeping.  As  it 
was  assumed  that,  once  launched  upon  my 
social  career,  I  would  keep  to  my  bedroom 
until  noon,  yet  another  housemaid  was 
added  to  the  staff. 

As  a  result  of  this  forethought,  the  ser- 
vants now  outnumbered  the  family  in  a 
ratio  of  five  to  one.  I  ran  into  them  at 
every  turn,  stumbled  upon  them  in  every 
corner.  It  was  like  living  at  a  fashionable 
hotel  on  the  Normandy  coast  while  waiting 
for  the  season  to  open — storm-lashed  waves; 
empty  casino;  band  playing  to  the  echoes. 
Everything  ready,  and  nothing  doing.  How 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA        173 

could  one  settle  down  to  normal  accom- 
plishment with  this  abnormal  fever  of  an- 
ticipation permeating  the  atmosphere  ?  If 
mother  found  me  reading  she  would  order 
me  to  close  the  book,  for  fear  my  eyelids 
should  become  reddened.  Painting  was 
out  of  the  question,  for  painting  took  time, 
and  I  could  never  count  on  more  than  half 
an  hour. 

It  wasn't  an  evening's  pleasure  that  was 
being  planned;  it  was  the  opening  move 
in  a  systematic  campaign.  So  far  as  I 
could  make  out,  pleasure  didn't  enter  into 
it.  After  the  1st  of  December  mother's 
activities  narrowed  down  to  the  desk  in 
her  sitting-room,  where  she  and  a  strange 
woman,  who  came  every  morning,  pored  all 
day  long  over  sheaves  of  papers  and  marked 
off  names  in  the  various  lists  with  little 
crosses.  The  strange  woman  seemed  to 
know  exactly  who  should  be  invited  and 
who  should  not.  They  managed  it  all  be- 


174        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

tween  them,  without  once  consulting  me. 
I  suggested  only  one  name,  with  much 
diffidence — John  Randall's — which  was  re- 
ceived without  comment  and  written  down. 

Time  and  much  cogitation  had  brought 
me  to  the  conclusion  that  Randall's  sud- 
den departure  from  Newport  had  been  due 
wholly  to  delicacy.  If  he  had  retired  in 
favor  of  another  man  it  was  because  he 
had  believed  that  I  cared  for  that  other. 
Once  convinced  of  this,  his  sole  considera- 
tion had  been  to  remove  the  embarrassment 
of  his  presence  as  speedily  as  possible.  The 
fact  that  in  failing  to  seize  his  unprecedented 
opportunity  he  was  jeopardizing  his  future 
of  worldly  success  and  running  the  risk  of 
losing  a  score  of  orders,  was  a  matter  of 
supreme  indifference  to  him,  if  it  occurred 
to  him  at  all.  Poor  as  dirt,  he  was,  never- 
theless, a  royal  spender.  Honor  to  whom 
honor  is  due. 

Unfortunately,  instead  of  flashing  me  the 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA        175 

true  explanation  at  once,  my  woman's  wit, 
or  intuition,  or  whatever  it  is  that  consti- 
tutes our  superiority  to  man,  had  been  ex- 
tremely slow  upon  this  occasion  in  getting 
to  work  upon  the  situation.  It  had,  in  fact, 
remained  in  a  state  of  suspension  during 
some  weeks.  In  the  interim  Allan  Denning 
had  obtained  my  promise.  I  was  morally 
bound  by  it  now,  hard  and  fast,  hand  and 
foot.  But  to  Randall's  behavior  I  had  at 
last  found  the  key.  Therefore,  the  invita- 
tion. 

When  we  had  first  moved  to  the  city 
Allan  had  begun  again  to  present  himself 
with  frequency,  but,  upon  a  hint  from  the 
authorities,  had  obediently  fallen  off  in  at- 
tendance, and  had  since  reappeared  with 
the  utmost  circumspection,  only  upon  rare 
occasions.  I  sometimes  wondered  whether 
it  was  not  a  case  of  shutting  the  barn  door 
after  the  horse  had  trotted  forth.  After 
all,  we  had  afforded  ample  opportunity  for 


176        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

comment  that  summer,  having  been  almost 
never  apart.  Not  everybody's  sight  was 
as  peculiar  as  that  of  mother,  who  went 
through  life  believing  that  only  such  things 
existed  as  she  wished  to  see.  John  Randall, 
for  example,  had  been  "on"  long  before  I  was. 
The  approach  of  my  eighteenth  birthday, 
which  filled  me  with  a  shy  sense  of  mystery 
and  wonder,  was  acclaimed  by  mother 
solely  as  affording  a  good  excuse  for  a 
theatre-party.  This  occasion  was  to  be  a 
farewell  to  subdebutantism,  consisting  of 
girls  only  —  thirty  of  them  —  and  those, 
younger  ones  who  were  not  coming  out  this 
year.  It  was  quite  in  order,  mother  ex- 
plained to  me,  to  invite  girls  of  that  age 
without  boys.  The  most  fashionable  danc- 
ing-class in  the  city — that  which  preceded 
the  Cosmopolitan  dances  for  girls  not  yet 
out,  excluded  the  other  sex,  except  for  a 
Christmas  evening  dance,  and  an  Easter  the 
dansant. 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA        177 

After  much  deliberation,  ten  names  were 
selected  from  the  list  of  this  dancing-class. 
Nine  out  of  those  bidden  accepted,  as  the 
girls  were  only  fifteen  and  had  not  many 
engagements  as  yet.  Alas !  The  very  one 
who  declined  was  the  one  mother  most 
wanted — the  little  Bolton  girl. 

The  remaining  twenty  were  asked  from 
the  year's  Cosmopolitan  list.  The  Cosmo- 
politan dances,  colloquially  known  as  the 
Mops,  were  the  only  official  peep-holes  into 
the  social  arena.  To  be  eligible  a  girl  must 
be  sixteen — and  much  besides.  It  was  ex- 
cessively easy  for  some  girls  to  be  invited 
to  join  and  insuperably  difficult  for  others. 
The  dances  were  subscription  affairs,  but  it 
was  not  only  money  that  had  to  be  sub- 
scribed. Those  who  failed  to  get  on  the  list 
organized  consolation  dances  of  their  own, 
with  limited  membership,  and  patronesses, 
and  all  the  proper  accessories,  so  that  the 
newspaper  accounts  of  them  sounded  just 


i/8        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

as  good.  A  few  of  those  who  attended  the 
Mops  went  to  these  also,  if  they  were  par- 
ticularly enthusiastic  about  dancing. 

Boarding-school  had  deprived  me  of  my 
three  legitimate  years  of  Mops.  By  means 
of  them  I  should  have  gained  experience. 
The  next  best  thing,  according  to  mother, 
was  to  tap  them — to  keep  in  touch  with 
the  members;  so  that  when  my  sun  should 
be  setting,  a  year  from  now,  I  might  still 
have  points  of  contact  with  those  whose 
luminary  was  drawing  toward  its  zenith. 

The  party,  when  it  occurred,  came  peri- 
lously near  being  a  frost,  for  mother  was  not 
accustomed  to  young  people  and  did  not 
know  how  to  put  them  at  their  ease.  The 
little  girls  arrived  earliest,  not  having  yet 
acquired  the  smart  habit  of  keeping  other 
people  waiting.  From  the  maturity  of 
eighteen  I  leaned  down  toward  them  with 
a  reminiscent  wistfulness  for  the  childhood 
forfeited  during  those  three  years.  They 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA        179 

were  so  sweet,  several  of  them,  and  came 
into  the  room  shyly,  their  bodies  tenderly 
curving,  some  inward,  some  outward — like 
flowers  blown  lightly  this  way  and  that  in 
a  breeze.  Their  recently  uprolled  hair  rested 
unfamiliarly  against  their  heads,  creating 
new  outlines;  a  few  of  the  coils  seemed  too 
heavy  for  the  soft  necks  to  bear.  What  a 
sin  against  nature  to  mould  them — to  make 
them  conform;  to  point  out  to  them  what 
was  what  and  who  was  who.  Youth  was 
receptive  enough;  it  would  not  take  long. 

Meantime  they  were  standing  about, 
some  with  hands  folded  patiently  across 
their  stomachs,  others  with  their  satin  slip- 
pers scrunched  inward,  wide-eyed,  expect- 
ant, and  dumb.  This  would  never  do !  In 
desperation  I  managed  to  corral  the  whole 
group  into  a  corner,  tell  them  little  jokes 
and  whisper  little  confidences  until  their 
laughter  bubbled  up  like  geysers  out  of  the 
ground- 


i8o        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

Each  newcomer  heard  it  as  she  came  in, 
and  joined  our  elastic  circle  at  once;  it  off- 
set mother's  formality,  and  the  situation 
was  saved.  Soon  there  was  a  twittering  like 
that  of  swallows  under  eaves.  Everybody 
was  natural,  as  the  sexes  are  apt  to  be  in 
the  absence  of  each  other. 

Against  mother's  advice,  I  had  chosen 
"  Henry  VIII "  instead  of  the  musical 
comedy  she  proposed.  It  was  a  superb  pro- 
duction and  the  girls  were  crazy  about  it. 
Any  puppy  will  eat  meat  if  you  throw  it 
to  him,  and  like  it  just  as  well  as  lollipops. 

That  was  a  happy  evening  for  me — a 
sort  of  female-bachelor  dinner,  dedicated 
to  pure,  spontaneous  gayety,  before  assum- 
ing the  bonds  of  wedlock  to  the  social 
world. 

As  the  2Oth  drew  nearer,  the  atmos- 
phere grew  more  and  more  oppressive  and 
hushed.  I  became,  day  by  day,  increasingly 
apprehensive  of  not  carrying  out  my  part 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA         181 

in  the  affair  in  the  right  form.  The  thought 
of  it  weighed  on  me  as  though  it  were  a 
presentation  at  court,  or  even  a  ceremony 
of  coronation.  I  might  say  or  do  something- 
that  wasn't  on  the  programme — I  never 
could  tell  just  what  I  was  going  to  do  or  say. 

I  wasn't  used  to  pomp  and  doubted 
whether  I  ever  could  get  used  to  it.  It  sat 
uneasily  upon  me,  and  hampered  my  move- 
ments in  much  the  same  manner  as  did  my 
delicate  clothes.  Yet  I  wanted  so  earnestly 
to  do  my  best  that  I  even  sent  up  a  little 
prayer  about  it,  and  intended  neither  trivi- 
ality nor  irreverence  thereby. 

Personally  I  did  not  attach  the  least  im- 
portance to  this  or  any  function;  but  mother 
cared  terribly,  and  that  was  enough.  I  had 
sacrificed  much  to  "play  the  game";  "see 
the  thing  through."  I  wanted  the  climax 
to  occur  in  a  burst  of  glory.  Thus  much  I 
could  do  toward  the  success  of  the  crown- 
ing achievement  of  the  life  of  her  who  had 


1 82        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

borne  me,  whether  my  ideals  were  hers  or 
not. 

"I  wonder,"  she  said  reflectively  one  day 
when  we  were  out  in  the  motor  together, 
"whether  you'll  be  a  success!" 

I  smiled,  and  uncomfortably  felt  her  eye 
on  the  spot  where  I'd  forgotten  my  dimple 
was. 

"I'm  not  going  to  worry  about  that,"  I 
returned  gently.  "You're  doing  the  best 
you  can  to  make  me  one,  mother.  It  doesn't 
depend  on  me." 

"Oh,  yes,  it  does,  in  large  measure,"  she 
asserted.  "I'm. just  deliberating  what  tac- 
tics to  advise.  This  spring  I  believed  your 
— er — outspokenness  and  your  blunt  manner 
would  offend.  Now,  from  what  I've  ob- 
served at  Newport,  I'm  inclined  to  think 
that  they  take.  People  are  tired  of  the 
usual  thing,  probably,  and  looking  for  some- 
thing different.  On  the  whole,  I  think  I'll 
have  you  push  your  individuality." 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA        183 

The  color  surged  over  my  face  and  neck 
in  wave  after  wave. 

"Oh,  mother!"  I  protested.  "Don't  you 
see  that  you're  going  to  kill  whatever  it  is 
that's  me  by  talking  about  it  ?  Please — 
please  don't!" 

Nevertheless,  I  was  a  little  relieved  to 
think  that  I  need  not  behave  like  an  au- 
tomaton at  the  ball. 

The  result  of  the  invitation  to  Randall 
was  a  note  from  Mrs.  Winslow  next  day 
asking  mother  to  allow  her  to  take  me  to 
the  studio  for  some  music  that  evening.  Of 
course  permission  was  not  withheld.  With 
Mrs.  Winslow  I  should  have  been  allowed 
to  go  anywhere ! 

The  minute  I  stepped  out  of  my  own 
house  I  began  to  feel  the  breath  of  a  keener 
air.  Snowflakes,  light  as  thistledown,  were 
falling;  I  can  feel  their  tiny  pricklings  of 
perforated  frostiness  now  on  my  cheek.  In 
the  motor  I  touched  the  fur-edged  sleeve  of 


i84        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

Mrs.  Winslow's  wrap  with  cautious  finger, 
to  make  sure  that  she  was  real.  There  was 
an  illusion  of  fitfulness  and  shadow  about 
her,  and  I  wanted  to  dispel  it,  for  my  love 
went  out  to  her  there  in  the  night.  Daugh- 
terless  mother  and  motherless  daughter  that 
we  were,  our  natures  had  hailed  each  other 
long  since,  at  the  first  hand-clasp. 

That  evening  brought  Randall  out  of  the 
void  for  me — put  a  background  behind  him 
and  earth  under  his  feet. 

The  studio  was  a  big  room  in  a  down- 
town street,  up  several  flights  of  stairs. 
Somebody  was  singing  when  we  got  there. 
The  room  was  full  of  people  who  made  no 
sound.  Toward  the  back  I  caught  sight  of 
Mr.  Winship's  face,  appreciative  and  in- 
tent. It  was  my  first  contact,  save  at  public 
concerts  where  tickets  were  to  be  bought, 
of  a  gathering  that  dared  to  show  itself 
serious.  No  one  was  ashamed  of  being  seri- 
ous here ! 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA        185 

Randall  was  sitting  motionless,  chin  for- 
ward, hand  on  knee.  He  must  have  heard 
us;  but  he  gave  no  sign.  We  were  spared 
the  variety  of  "manners"  that  would  have 
forced  intrusion  upon  us.  In  the  arch  of 
the  old-fashioned  doorway,  her  breast  rising 
and  falling  under  her  pearls,  the  fold  of  her 
train  coiled  about  her  feet,  Mrs.  Winslow 
was  allowed  her  fair  share  of  enjoyment, 
standing  unnoticed  until  the  song  was  at 
an  end.  Then  Randall  sprang  toward  us, 
with  a  glad  face  of  welcome,  all  his  boyish- 
ness loosed  from  the  spell. 

"You!"  he  said,  turning  to  me  when  he 
had  greeted  Mrs.  Winslow.  "In  my  house !" 

That  was  all;  but  he  said  it  as  though 
some  Presence  had  crossed  his  threshold, 
and  I  trembled,  incapable  of  reply. 

Hour  after  hour  they  made  music  for  the 
sheer  joy  of  it.  On  and  on  they  went,  with- 
out order,  sequence,  or  brevity.  During  in- 
tervals Randall  scrambled  eggs,  we  ate,  and 


1 86        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

I  met  everybody.  There  was  plenty  of 
jollity;  and  when  people  laughed,  they 
laughed !  They  were  no  more  afraid  of 
laughter  than  of  seriousness. 

The  guests  included  painters  of  both  sexes, 
musicians,  sculptors,  stage  folk,  two  play- 
wrights, several  readers  for  magazines,  edi- 
tors and  their  wives — people  who  did  things; 
and  people  who,  like  Mr.  Winship  and  Mrs. 
Winslow,  loved  to  see  things  done.  Some 
were  word  artists,  who  chatted  familiarly 
of  subjects  that,  where  I  came  from,  were 
kept  imprisoned  between  the  covers  of 
books.  Everything  they  touched  upon  they 
clothed  with  form  and  color.  They  brought 
dead  history  to  life.  They  discussed  phi- 
losophy and  metaphysics.  It  was  almost 
too  rich,  that  meal,  after  a  starvation  diet 
of  such  long  duration. 

"You're  coming  to  my  ball?"  I  whis- 
pered to  Randall  as  we  said  good  night. 

He  nodded. 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA         187 

"Really,  this  time!"  I  enjoined. 

"Yes — really!"  he  promised,  with  a  flit- 
ting smile. 

It  was  the  only  reference  that  was  made 
by  either  of  us  to  his  late  defalcation. 

In  the  interval  I  tried  not  to  think  of 
him.  My  intelligence  must  be  of  a  very 
limited  order,  I  reflected  ruefully,  since  I 
seemed  incapable  of  thinking  of  more  than 
one  man  at  a  time. 

At  Newport,  Allan  had  crowded  Randall 
out;  now  Randall  was  crowding  Allan  out. 
And  this  was  not  as  it  should  be.  I  was  a 
little  annoyed  with  Allan  for  his  tame  ac- 
quiescence in  the  role  of  absentee  landlord. 
He  should  have  been  keeping  a  closer  watch 
on  his  preserves. 


IV 

the  morning  of  December  20  I 
partially  woke  to  a  sensation  of  por- 
tent. The  fear  of  something  vaguely  gran- 
diose was  sitting  astride  my  chest,  filling 
me  with  oppression.  Some  cataclysm  was 
imminent.  For  a  moment  I  thought  it 
was  my  wedding-day — no  less.  I  did  not 
feel  happy  about  it.  Blinking,  it  was  rather 
a  relief  to  realize  presently  that  it  was  not 
so  bad  as  all  that.  I  wasn't  going  to  be 
married — yet.  I  was  only  coming  out. 
This  was  the  day. 

I  did  not  go  out  that  morning.  I  wanted 
to  be  on  hand  and  see  what  was  doing. 
There  was  much  in  me  still  of  the  little 
girl  whose  habit  it  had  been  to  rush  to  the 
front  door,  every  time  the  bell  rang,  to 
discover  what  shape  of  parcel  was  being 

188 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA        189 

delivered,  or  to  get  the  letters  the  postman 
brought.  First,  a  vanful  of  chairs  arrived; 
and  next,  a  melancholy  looking  motor,  sug- 
gestive of  the  undertaker.  Flattening  my 
nose  against  my  window,  which  was  my 
nearest  dignified  approach  now  to  the  out- 
side world,  I  sighed  with  relief  when  it  be- 
gan to  disgorge  nothing  more  ominous 
than  potted  plants.  So  many  things  came 
during  the  next  two  hours  that  I  marvelled 
how  any  one  could  have  remembered  to 
order  them  all.  Caterers'  wagons  were  not 
wanting.  In  spite  of  our  chef  and  his  staff 
we  had  to  buy  little  cakes,  and  what-not, 
just  as  they  did  for  Sunday-school  picnics. 

The  best  part  of  the  day  began  after 
lunch,  for  it  rained  flowers  the  whole  after- 
noon. The  boxes  were  opened  in  the  sitting- 
room,  so  that  the  secretary  could  sort  the 
cards  and  jot  down  descriptive  memoranda 
for  acknowledgments  to  be  written  by  me 
later  on;  then  the  men  brought  the  flowers 


190        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

to  the  drawing-room  by  armfuls.  Mother 
sat  in  a  chair  at  first  and  gave  orders  as  to 
where  they  were  to  be  put,  but,  being  sum- 
moned elsewhere,  left  me  in  possession; 
whereupon  I  changed  the  position  of  every 
vase,  and  in  less  than  an  hour  had  that  room 
blooming  like  an  exhibit  in  a  flower-show. 

I  looked  over  the  cards  before  dinner  and 
found  ninety-seven  names  of  people  I  didn't 
know.  The  same  people  would  undoubtedly 
commemorate  the  occasion  of  my  marriage 
in  the  same  way;  and  of  my  funeral  too — 
if  fate  should  prove  so  obliging  as  to  give 
it  precedence  of  theirs.  If  people  said  what 
they  meant  in  this  world  I  could  imagine  any 
of  them,  supposing  I  were  to  make  inquiries 
and  tender  my  thanks  verbally  to-night, 
replying,  with  a  bow:  "Nothing  personal 
intended,  I  assure  you.  Merely  a  matter 
of  form." 

John  Randall  sent  me  no  flowers.  Allan 
Denning  did;  but  I  was  in  too  much  of  a 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA        191 

rush  at  the  moment  to  pay  much  heed  to 
them.  They  and  the  hair-dresser  arrived 
simultaneously;  so  I  thrust  them  into  the 
last  remaining  receptacle  and  let  it  go  at 
that. 

That  hair-dresser  was  an  anatomist  of 
no  mean  order.  I  did  not  recognize  my  own 
skull  when  he  had  done  with  it.  Where  it 
was  too  small  it  had  been  given  the  illusion 
of  expansion,  and  where  it  was  too  big  it 
had  seemingly  contracted.  I  undulated  up 
from  my  neck  and  I  tapered  down  from  my 
crown;  ringlets  twined  where  wisps  had 
been  before;  coils  looked  solid  that  were 
hollow  inside;  I  stuck  out  where  I  ought  to 
stick  out,  and  where  I  oughtn't  I  didn't. 
The  backward  and  upward  poise  of  the 
structure  lent  inches  to  my  height.  She  was 
almost  tall — that  girl  who  returned  my  stare 
into  the  mirror;  and  correct,  surprisingly 
— far  too  correct  to  be  me ! 

"It's  faking!"  I  protested,  and  picked  up 


192        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

a  tiny  strand  of  strictly  debutante  pearls, 
which  had  been  given  me  for  my  birth- 
day. 

I  let  them  trickle  through  my  fingers, 
gleaming  like  dewdrops  in  moonlight,  and 
then  put  them  on.  Bah !  Utterly  out  of 
place,  the  delicate  things,  against  a  throat 
strong,  muscular,  and  brown !  Raising  dis- 
contented eyes,  I  beheld  Yvonne,  the  tempt- 
ress, with  extended  powder-puff.  I  shook 
my  head  and  snapped  the  clasp  to.  Saving 
my  coiffure,  as  to  which  I  had  been  allowed 
no  say,  I  was  determined  to  stand  on  my 
own  merits;  to  be  displayed — like  an  article 
put  up  for  auction — "as  is."  After  all,  the 
pearls  were  as  well  suited  to  me  as  the  rest 
of  my  surroundings. 

In  white,  with  an  aura  of  tulle,  I  made 
my  way  to  mother's  room  and  offered  my- 
self for  inspection.  While  it  lasted  my  heart 
was  in  my  mouth.  When  at  length  she  said 
solemnly,  "I've  never  seen  you  look  so 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA        193 

well!"  it  fell  back  into  place.  She  was  not 
ashamed  of  me,  then.  That  would  make 
the  ordeal  far  easier.  That  it  was  to  be  an 
ordeal  I  had  no  manner  of  doubt.  The 
situation  was  one  I  could  not  possibly 
dominate  as  I  had  dominated  the  theatre- 
party  of  girls.  It  was  too  big  for  me. 

Toward  eleven  o'clock  we  took  our  stand 
at  the  drawing-room  door.  Shortly  after, 
the  oldest  and  most  important  personages — 
always  the  earliest — began  to  arrive.  They 
came  by  twos  and  threes  at  first,  then  by 
tens  and  dozens.  Their  glances  were  crit- 
ical; their  hand-clasps  cold.  Within  half 
an  hour  they  had  reduced  me  spiritually 
to  pulp.  My  spine  had  become  a  string; 
my  pretty  white  dress  seemed  a  rag;  and 
my  whole  personality  a  hopeless  proposi- 
tion. It  was  not  that  they  were  intentionally 
cruel.  Safe  within  the  shells  of  self-impor- 
tance they  had  provided  themselves  with  to 
walk  about  in,  they  felt  no  shafts  from  with- 


194        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

out,  and  supposed  others  equally  invulner- 
able. 

Would  younger  people  never  begin  to 
come?  I  wondered.  What  had  these  dow- 
agers to  do  with  dancing?  Whose  enter- 
tainment was  this,  anyway — mother's  or 
mine  ?  It  was  fully  ten  minutes  since  any 
gloved  fingers  had  touched  my  own;  so  I 
felt  free  to  leave  my  post  beside  mother, 
near  the  door,  and  look  into  the  ballroom. 
There  the  orchestra's  spirited  playing  still 
invited  in  vain.  Brocaded  trains  swept  the 
polished  floor;  diamonds  glittered;  feather 
fans  swung  deliberately  to  and  fro.  What 
men  there  were  were  personages,  too,  though 
many  of  them  did  not  look  it,  the  years 
having  given  them  fantastic  curves  never 
intended  by  Nature  and  unknown  to  art. 
Fashion,  in  regard  to  concealment  of  such 
deficiencies,  certainly  discriminates  in  favor 
of  women.  A  man  in  a  white  waistcoat, 
so  far  as  his  outline  is  concerned,  might  as 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA        195 

well  be  on  the  slab  at  a  Turkish  bath.  From 
distasteful  contemplation  of  one  partic- 
ularly offensive  bulge,  I  was  recalled  by  a 
light  step  behind;  and,  turning,  I  caught 
my  breath  at  sight  of  John  Randall,  like- 
wise in  a  white  waistcoat,  with  a  glorious 
inward  curve.  The  look  of  merry  anticipa- 
tion in  his  face  was  new  to  me;  the  eyes 
that  could  be  so  serious  were  actually  snap- 
ping to  ragtime ! 

"Try  this!"  he  suggested  succinctly,  and 
we  took  up  the  rhythm  in  the  middle  of  a 
beat. 

"I  didn't  know  you  danced,"  I  mur- 
mured. "How  delicious!" 

Perhaps  I  was  prejudiced  in  his  favor, 
but  he  seemed  to  me  to  dance  divinely. 
Closing  my  eyes,  I  gave  myself  up  to  the 
joy  of  it.  I  did  not  know  whether  any  other 
couple  was  on  the  floor.  Suddenly  I  felt 
my  partner's  muscles  tighten,  his  pace 
falter.  Somebody  was  about  to  cut  in. 


196        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

I  opened  my  eyes  upon  Allan,  smiling 
with  an  air  of  ownership,  hands  outstretched. 
He  was  within  his  rights,  his  act  strictly  in 
accord  with  the  dancer's  code.  With  entire 
propriety  he  might  thus  have  claimed  any 
girl  he  knew.  I  could  not  do  otherwise 
than  suffer  him  to  swing  me  away.  Allan 
Denning — jealous !  Furious  though  I  was 
at  the  interruption,  I  was  flattered  too. 

"You  might  have  let  me  finish  it  out," 
I  grumbled,  "instead  of  snatching  away  my 
cake  in  the  middle  of  a  bite/' 

"Had  to  obey  orders,"  he  laughed,  slow- 
ing down  as  we  neared  the  door.  "You 
shouldn't  have  bolted  just  then,  you  know. 
No  end  of  people  coming  in.  Young  people. 
Your  mother  sent  me  to  bring  you  back." 

Then  it  wasn't  jealousy.  How  flat !  He 
hadn't  come  of  his  own  accord.  He'd  been 
sent.  There  was  nothing  to  be  furious 
about.  I  was  furious  that  there  wasn't. 
He  was  a  half-hearted  lover,  this  lover  of 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA        197 

mine.  The  momentary  tang  had  gone  out 
of  the  evening,  to  return  no  more. 

I  had  always  supposed  society  to  be 
exclusive;  but  the  last  few  months  had 
taught  me  otherwise.  Mother  had  fol- 
lowed, upon  this  occasion,  the  generally 
recognized  custom,  which  prevails  among 
metropolitan  hostesses,  of  inviting  to  their 
houses  not  only  the  young  men  they  know 
personally  but  also  those  they  know  about. 
The  social  secretary  had  furnished  the 
names,  and  the  majority  of  those  who  an- 
swered to  them  had  materialized  during 
the  evening,  been  presented,  and  done 
what  was  expected  of  them — namely,  taken 
me  for  a  turn.  Some  had  overlooked  the 
implied  obligation,  and  were  merely  making 
a  convenience  of  the  house  as  offering  cer- 
tain advantages  over  a  public  dance-hall. 
For  one  thing,  the  champagne  was  free. 

I  looked  about  everywhere  for  Randall, 
though  I  knew  I  was  looking  in  vain.  He 


198        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

had  gone.  What  else  was  there  for  him  to 
do  when  I  was  snatched  away  ?  He  did 
not  know  any  of  the  other  girls.  He  had 
only  come  because  I  had  asked  him.  This 
festivity  was  none  of  his — nor  of  mine,  for 
that  matter.  But  it  had  served  its  purpose. 
In  half  a  dance  we  had  found  each  other  as 
dancing  partners.  Half  a  bar  would  have 
sufficed.  Those  who  had  danced  together 
once  could  dance  together  again — and  again 
— and  again.  We  had  danced  to-night  in 
a  ballroom;  but  a  studio  would  do  as  well. 
And,  given  two  pairs  of  eager  feet,  a  fiddle 
was  as  good  as  a  stringed  orchestra — every 
bit. 

Once,  while  I  was  waltzing  with  Allan, 
I  forgot  Randall  altogether;  and  then  sud- 
denly I  felt  something  sharp  and  hard 
against  my  breast.  Could  it  be  a  button  ? 
A  waistcoat  button  ?  Released  upon  cessa- 
tion of  the  music,  I  examined  his  outline 
with  apprehensive  eyes.  N-o;  no  actual 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA        199 

bulge — as  yet.  And  oh,  how  handsome  he 
was !  Not  so  half-hearted,  either,  after  a 
few  digressions  to  the  corridor,  where  the 
footmen  were  kept  busy  filling  glass  after 
glass.  But  I  was  in  no  mood  for  love- 
making  that  required  artificial  stimulus  to 
give  it  a  fillip.  I  refused  his  invitation  to 
supper  in  favor  of  that  of  a  black-browed 
count,  with  a  limited  vocabulary  and  a 
tiny  waxed  mustache. 

At  length  people  grew  tired  of  eating. 
Napkins  were  thrown  aside;  chairs  pushed 
away;  the  elderly  had  had  enough — they 
were  ready  to  say  good  night.  According 
to  precedent,  the  dancers  returned  to  the 
ballroom  for  more  dancing;  then  the  music 
stopped,  as  music  must;  and  everybody 
went  home. 

Mother  disappeared  to  give  some  orders, 
and  I  was  left  in  the  great  glittering  draw- 
ing-room, serving  now  no  purpose,  since  it 
was  meant  for  entertaining  and  there  was 


200        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

no  one  left  to  entertain.  The  flowers  were 
all  drooping  on  their  stems;  and  as  for  me, 
the  toes  of  my  slippers  were  soiled  and 
crumpled,  my  tulle  had  wilted,  my  hair  was 
coming  down. 

It  was  over !  No  need  to  stand  here  any 
longer.  The  deed  was  done.  I  was  "out"! 

When  I  passed  into  the  hall  the  men 
were  waiting  there,  motionless,  to  extin- 
guish the  lights.  Slipping  by  them,  I  ran 
up-stairs. 

There  was  no  doubt  of  it;  by  coming  out 
I  had  acquired  merit  with  mother.  From 
the  evening  of  my  debut  my  status  was 
changed.  After  the  manner  of  a  son  who 
has  attained  his  majority,  I  was  now  a 
person  of  importance  in  the  house.  I  re- 
ceived more  attention  than  I  demanded, 
and  was  accorded  a  larger  measure  of  con- 
sideration than  I  either  desired  or  deserved. 
Luckily  I  had  a  good  memory  for  the  lean 
years  behind,  and  thus  preserved  some 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA        201 

measure  of  equilibrium.  They  were  such  a 
little  way  behind — those  years  ! — just  round 
the  turning  in  the  road.  My  feet  had 
travelled  that  uphill  road  alone. 

Lately  mother  had  seen  fit  to  resume 
what,  to  her,  was  motherhood;  it  was  like 
a  garment  long  discarded  and  left  to  hang 
in  a  remote  corner  of  the  closet  until  such 
time  as  occasion  should  demand  that  it 
be  brought  forth,  shaken  and  aired.  The 
result  of  such  resumption  had  not  dis- 
pleased her.  It  lent  a  new  attribute  to  her 
personality;  added  an  element  of  surprise. 
It  supplemented  her  and  admitted  of  fresh 
combinations.  It  was  a  better  fit  than  she 
had  had  reason  to  expect. 

A  debutante  must  be  heart-free.  There- 
fore, my  engagement  was  in  abeyance;  it 
had  degenerated  into  a  thing  of  naught. 
All  summer  I  had  been  allowed  to  be  con- 
stantly in  Allan  Denning's  company;  now 
I  never  saw  him  alone.  I  submitted  because 


202        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

I  had  offered  to  submit,  but  I  chafed  ex- 
ceedingly, and  thought  only  of  getting  over 
the  tiresome  months  between  now  and  the 
moment  of  my  release. 

Meantime,  at  least,  time  was  not  hanging 
on  my  hands.  During  the  remainder  of 
the  month  of  December  the  coming-out 
teas  and  dances  were  as  thick  as  weddings 
in  June,  and  I  attended  them  all.  On  the 
whole,  the  teas  were  preferable  to  the  balls. 
I  was  invariably  crushed  and  breathless, 
it  was  true, — on  one  occasion  mother  and 
I  were  wedged  on  a  stairway  and  could  not 
move  up  or  down  for  three-quarters  of  an 
hour — I  saw  nobody  I  wanted  to  see  and 
everybody  I  didn't — but,  though  I  was  as 
acutely  uncomfortable  as  one  of  a  crowd 
of  trippers  jamming  an  excursion  boat,  I 
had  as  personal  a  feeling  as  they  of  adding 
to  the  jollity  of  the  occasion — helping  things 
along. 

One  tea  is  pretty  much  like  another.     It 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA        203 

does  not  admit  of  apprehension  and  excite- 
ment for  months  and  even  years  before- 
hand. It  can  be  weathered  without  undue 
mental  strain,  with  no  graver  consequences 
than  a  good-sized  bill  at  the  florist's  and  a 
few  sandwiches  left  over  at  the  end  of  the 
day. 

By  the  2Oth  of  the  month  everybody  had 
come  out  who  was  coming.  Then  occurred 
the  interlude  of  the  holidays,  after  which 
the  actual  season  broke.  You  supped  at 
one  ball  and  you  breakfasted  at  another; 
if  you  did  not  keep  going  you  were  not  hav- 
ing a  good  time.  I  would  bolt  my  eggs  and 
coffee  at  four  in  the  morning  with  the  others, 
and  then,  before  I  got  into  the  motor  with 
my  maid,  stand  for  an  instant  in  the  street, 
eyes  on  the  glowing  east,  despising  myself, 
my  rumpled  frock,  my  soiled  slippers,  so 
tawdry  in  the  portentous  hush  of  the  new 
day. 

Once,  to  make  my  peace  with  it,  having 


204        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

arrived  at  home,  I  wished  Yvonne  good 
night,  dumped  my  finery  in  the  middle  of 
the  floor,  and,  dressed  in  an  old  school  Tarn, 
a  rough  skirt  and  a  sweater,  went  out  again 
alone.  I  encountered  an  old  Irishman — a 
night-watchman,  I  judged — with  iron-gray 
hair  and  majestic  presence,  who  looked  at 
me  without  surprise  and  inclined  his  head 
gravely,  as  to  a  fellow  worker  in  the  world. 
Nothing  for  weeks  had  so  stirred  me  as  this 
assumption.  My  heart  blessed  him  as  I 
passed,  and  my  eyes  gave  the  countersign. 

There  was  no  sleep  for  me  that  night — or, 
rather,  that  morning.  I  had  recovered  the 
insight  with  which  I  had  come  back  from 
boarding-school,  and  which  I  had  somehow 
lost  since.  My  relation  to  the  life  I  was 
leading  was  crystal-clear  to  me.  I  was  and 
always  should  be  a  rank  outsider.  I  felt 
no  scorn  for  mother's  point  of  view;  but  it 
was  not  and  never  could  be  mine.  Sooner 
or  later  I  must  be  free  of  these  surround- 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA        205 

ings.  It  was  no  more  possible  for  me  to 
adapt  myself  to  them  than  for  a  fish  to 
adapt  itself  to  the  breathing  of  air. 

Things  had  worked  themselves  out  ac- 
cording to  my  expectation,  with  one  ex- 
ception. I  had  warned  myself  not  to  fall 
in  love  within  the  walls.  Poor  little  fool 
that  I  had  been  for  my  pains !  Treasure  is 
treasure,  in  one  place  or  another;  and  it 
was  well  within  the  enclosure  that  I  had 
stumbled  upon  mine.  Well,  there  was 
nothing  for  it  but  to  gather  it  up  and  stag- 
ger forth  with  it  upon  the  highway. 

In  plain  words,  I  was  going  to  get  out; 
but  I  was  going  to  carry  Allan  Denning 
along  with  me — when  the  time  had  come. 
I  had  learned  enough  to  know  that  it  would 
be  hard  to  uproot  him;  that  it  would  be 
myself  who  would  have  to  take  the  initia- 
tive. Well,  I  was  equal  to  the  task.  Out 
of  dead  air  into  air  that  was  in  motion  I 
would  sweep  him;  he  would  draw  great 


206        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

drafts  of  it  into  his  lungs,  and  after  that 
he  would  never  want  to  go  back.  Together 
we  would  tackle  the  road  that  wound  up- 
hill all  the  way — yes;  to  the  very  end ! 

I  thrilled  at  the  thought  of  it;  I  felt  his 
hand  in  mine;  all  the  trivialities  that  had 
kept  us  apart  melted  into  nothing;  tears 
started  to  my  eyes;  my  lips  breathed  his 
name.  I  must  see  him  this  very  day — and 
not  over  the  teacups,  either;  I  was  done 
with  pretense,  so  far  as  he  was  concerned. 
He  was  mine  and  I  was  his;  and  if  we  were 
to  play  the  farce  out  for  the  benefit  of  the 
public  we  must  be  fortified  between  scenes 
by  a  little  concentrated  living  and  loving 
to  keep  our  courage  up. 

I  was  just  going  to  sit  down  and  write 
him  an  urgent  summons  when  my  tooth 
began  to  ache.  I  had  two  rows  of  exceed- 
ingly serviceable  teeth  and  had  never  had 
a  toothache  in  my  life;  but  this  one  started 
as  though  it  meant  business.  It  exacted 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA        207 

the  strictest  attention;  I  laid  my  pen  down 
and  sat,  taut  and  dismayed,  hand  on  cheek. 
Impossible  to  idle  in  a  negligee,  boudoir 
cap,  and  slippers,  with  a  red-hot  iron  in  my 
mouth  I 

I  dressed  hastily  and  rang  for  a  maid  to 
accompany  me  to  Doctor  Read's,  to  seek 
alleviation;  for,  though  in  my  real  char- 
acter I  might  walk  abroad  safely  at  sunrise, 
in  my  assumed  one  it  was  not  permissible 
to  go  unaccompanied  in  mid-morning.  No 
one  responded.  Neither  maid  was  listen- 
ing, for  it  was  not  in  the  regulations  that  I 
should  bestir  myself  before  noon.  Unable 
to  bear  another  moment's  delay,  I  there- 
fore defied  custom  and  outraged  conven- 
tion in  seeking  my  destination  unprotected 
by  means  of  public  conveyances,  taking  a 
transfer,  along  with  other  strap-hangers, 
and  finishing  'cross-town,  directly  in  front 
of  the  dentist's  door. 

Not  having  made  an  appointment,  I  was 


208        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

obliged  to  wait.  Another  patient  was  "in 
the  chair."  After  the  custom  of  teeth  when 
relief  is  imminent,  mine  had  ceased  to  throb 
so  insistently.  A  little  apart  from  the  stale 
magazines  littering  the  table  lay  a  fresh, 
new  copy  of  Gossip.  I  picked  it  up  out  of 
curiosity,  because  I  knew  it  was  without 
the  pale.  At  the  very  first  paragraph  my 
heart  turned  to  ice.  I  forced  myself  to 
read  it  through — not  once,  but  three  times: 

I  have  it  on  good  authority  that  our  genial 
friend,  Allan  Denning,  having  had  pretty  poor 
sport  in  salmon  fishing,  last  summer  took  to 
fishing  for  minnows  at  Newport  and — by  Jove ! 
— landed  one  right  in  his  hand.  In  the  ver- 
nacular, every  millionairess  this  side  of  the  Mis- 
sissippi having  turned  him  down,  last  spring  on 
Long  Island  he  unearthed  little  Miss  Innocence, 
who  responded  to  his  rather  shop-worn  charms 
on  the  sly.  He  followed  up  his  advantage  at 
Newport,  and  every  day  there  was  a  twosome  on 
the  links.  It  was  a  pretty  romance,  until  my 
young  lady's  parents  got  onto  it.  Then  there 
was  the  devil  to  pay !  If  the  girl  was  to  be  sac- 
rificed let  her  be  sacrificed  to  some  purpose,  they 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA        209 

shrieked.  There  might  be  money  enough  to 
catch  a  duke  if  sufficient  splurge  was  made  about 
it.  Keep  Allan  for  a  pet  round  the  house !  That 
was  all  he  was  good  for,  and  everybody  knew  it. 
Poor  Allan !  He'd  fixed  the  girl,  but  the  old 
folks  were  too  many  for  him.  When  he  found 
that  out  he  crawled.  He  adhered  to  his  custom 
of  letting  himself  be  walked  over  and  kicked. 
For  the  twentieth  time  he  went  'way  back  and 
sat  down.  He's  sitting  down  now,  waiting  for 
the  fireworks  to  go  out.  Then,  if  the  duke  doesn't 
materialize,  up  he'll  step  again.  It's  a  long 
chance  he's  taking,  but  it's  my  guess  that  it's 
his  last  one  of  anchoring  himself  to  a  fortune. 
The  girl's  spunky  enough,  I'm  told.  She's  ut- 
terly inexperienced  and  he's  got  her  cold.  If  he 
doesn't  do  anything  rash  he  thinks  he  can  count 
on  her  to  work  things  round.  We  shall  see ! 

At  the  end  of  the  third  reading  the  letters 
danced  before  me.  I  swayed  to  a  chair  and 
dropped  upon  it;  the  paper,  clutched  in  my 
fingers,  sank  to  my  knee  slowly,  as  though 
it  had  been  a  thing  of  weight. 

The  dentist  came  in  suavely,  bowing  some 
woman  out.  He  made  sympathetic  inquiry 
as  to  my  trouble,  for  I  was  the  daughter 


210        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

of  a  lucrative  patient  who  had  all  her  fillings 
done  in  gold.  Seeing  the  paper  in  my  hand, 
he  murmured  a  hasty  apology  for  having 
it  about;  some  one  had  brought  it  in  and 
left  it,  he  explained;  he  had  had  every 
intention  of  destroying  it;  it  was  a  scur- 
rilous sheet. 

"Scurrilous!  Scurrilous!  Scurrilous!" 
ground  out  the  horrid  buzz-saw,  to  the 
jangling  of  my  nerves. 

"I  don't  think  it'll  bother  you  any  more 
now,"  soothed  Doctor  Read,  applying  a 
small  square  of  cheese-cloth  to  my  mouth 
as  I  lay  extended,  weak,  limp  and  white. 
He  referred  to  the  tooth. 

He  watched  me  narrowly  as  I  went 
out. 

"May  I  take  it?"  I  asked  stonily. 

"Take  what?" 

"That  paper." 

"Certainly;    by  all  means,  Miss  West." 

There  was  a  colored  maid  in  the  dressing- 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA        211 

room  when  I  put  on  my  hat.  She  handed 
me  my  hatpins  and  said  something  about 
the  weather  in  a  low,  musical  voice.  I 
longed  to  pour  my  sorrows  into  that  girl's 
ears.  I  was  so  bewildered  that  I  did  not 
know  what  to  do.  I  had  never  thought  it 
was  in  dentists'  offices  that  idols  were  shat- 
tered and  whole  structures  of  the  imagina- 
tion came  crashing  to  the  ground. 

A  man  was  in  front  of  me  at  the  ticket- 
office  window  when  I  reached  the  subway. 
As  he  took  the  change  that  was  shoved 
toward  him  I  noticed  what  an  extraordinary 
hand  he  had;  so  white,  so  slim,  so  nervous — 
a  distinguished  hand !  He  swept  up  the 
pile,  turned  away;  and  in  the  act  of  shov- 
ing in  my  nickel  I  glanced  up.  To  the 
disgust  of  the  official  in  the  window,  I 
failed  to  take  the  ticket  he  offered,  but, 
instead,  touched  the  man  before  me  on  the 
arm. 

"Mr.  Randall!"  I  said  hoarsely. 


212        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

Startled  exceedingly,  he  turned.  It  had 
been  no  greeting  that  I  had  uttered.  He 
had  recognized  in  it  a  cry  for  help. 

Out  of  cavernous  darkness  the  express 
came  rushing,  with  its  gleaming  headlights; 
but  we  let  it  go  and  made  our  way  back 
to  daylight  and  the  street. 

"I've  got  to  talk  to  some  one,"  I  ap- 
pealed. "I've  got  to  have  some  advice. 
Look  at  this." 

I  showed  him  the  paragraph.  As  he  read 
it  he  grew  red  and  white  by  turns.  At  last 
he  turned  and  looked  at  me,  and  in  that 
voice  of  his,  which  was  capable  of  as  many 
gradations  of  expression  as  his  face,  he 
said  simply: 

"I  can't  advise  you — in  this  matter.  It 
— wouldn't  be  giving — the  other  fellow — a 
square  deal." 

And  this  was  the  man  mother  had  said 
was  not  a  gentleman — this  the  man  at  whom 
that  "other  fellow"  had  Jooked  askance 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA        213 

because  he  didn't  remember  having  seen 
him  "anywhere"  before! 

"Isn't  there  anybody  else?"  he  resumed, 
with  an  effort.  "How  about  Mrs.  Wins- 
low?  Couldn't  you  go  to  her?" 

I  seized  upon  the  suggestion  and  clung  to 
it. 

"I'm  not  coming  with  you,"  he  said.  "I 
might — I'd  better  not  come." 

I  descended  alone  into  the  cavern,  boarded 
one  of  the  rushing  trains,  and  in  short  order 
reached  Mrs.  Winslow's  house.  My  heart 
sank  when  I  saw  her  motor  standing  in 
front  of  it.  It  must  be  luncheon-time.  She 
was  lunching  out.  There  she  was  now,  on 
the  step !  I  would  snatch  a  hurried  word 
with  her — make  an  appointment.  Her  eyes 
lighted  when  they  fell  on  me. 

"Well,  Barbara!"  she  said,  saw  my  agita- 
tion, and  stopped. 

Before  I  could  speak  she  laid  her  hand  on 
my  arm.  I  could  feel  the  magnetic  current 


2i4        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

of  those  fingers  through  her  glove  and  my 
sleeve. 

"Come  in,"  she  said  quietly,  and  turned 
back  to  the  house. 

"Oh,  no!"  I  cried  in  dismay,  being  by 
this  time  well  versed  in  the  paramount 
importance  of  engagements  and  hours  to 
the  class  of  society  in  which  Mrs.  Winslow 
moved. 

Nothing  short  of  a  death  in  the  family 
would  have  kept  mother  from  a  bridge- 
party;  or,  in  fact,  any  appointment  made 
weeks  ahead  and  written  down  on  her 
pad. 

For  answer  Mrs.  Winslow  drew  her  arm 
through  mine,  while  the  footman  pressed 
the  bell,  and  the  door  swung  open. 

"You'll  be  late,"  I  protested.  "Or  you'll 
miss  it  altogether." 

"What  does  that  matter?"  she  returned; 
and  I  could  detect  a  faint  trace  of  scorn  in 
the  beautiful  curve  of  her  lips.  "Eldredge 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA        215 

shall  send  a  telephone  message  for  me. 
Come  up-stairs." 

No  sooner  had  the  door  closed  upon  us 
two  than  all  the  lines  of  her  proud  figure 
seemed  to  melt.  She  turned  toward  me 
eagerly,  and  there  was  such  a  look  in  her 
dark  eyes  as  I  had  seen  in  the  eyes  of  Italian 
women  nursing  their  babies  on  the  curb.  I 
threw  myself  into  her  arms  headlong  and 
crumpled  up  upon  her  breast. 

Not  until  she  had  kissed  and  comforted 
me,  called  me  "darling" — not  sentimentally, 
but  naturally — and  quieted  me  in  her  arms, 
did  she  sit  down  on  the  sofa,  indicate  a  big 
chair  for  me  to  draw  up  near  her,  and  ask 
me  what  my  trouble  was.  I  unfolded  the 
paper,  which  I  still  held,  and  handed  it 
to  her  open  at  the  paragraph  that  referred 
to  Allan  Denning.  She  read  it,  laid  the 
sheet  down  on  her  knee,  and  remained 
silent. 

Confirmed   in   my   apprehensions   by   the 


2i6        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

fact  that  she  withheld  comment,  I  broke 
into  an  impromptu  defense  of  the  subject 
of  the  attack.  I  pleaded  his  cause  from  the 
beginning  in  a  tumult  of  broken  words  and 
disordered  phrases.  I  talked  until  I  was 
out  of  breath,  and  all  the  time  I  realized 
that  I  convinced  neither  her  nor  myself.  I 
broke  off  in  the  middle  of  a  sentence;  my 
lips  quivered.  I  knew  I  was  beaten,  and  I 
felt  bruised. 

As  I  searched  her  face  for  fresh  courage 
I  was  startled  by  her  resemblance  to  the 
portrait.  The  same  compelling  look,  that 
gripped  and  lifted  you !  Oh,  the  insight  that 
had  pinioned  that  look  on  canvas !  .  .  . 
I  felt  that  we  were  no  longer  two  in  that 
room,  but  three.  .  .  .  Neither  his  own 
will-power,  nor  yet  doors  nor  windows,  could 
keep  John  Randall  out ! 

"I've  always  felt  sure,"  Mrs.  Winslow 
said,  "that  something  would  save  you  from 
the  catastrophe  of  marriage  with  Allan  Den- 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA        217 

ning.  It's  happened  to  come  from  outside; 
but  it  might  just  as  well  have  come  from 
within.  You're  such  a  straight  thinker — 
about  the  straightest  I've  ever  met.  You 
would  have  ended  by  realizing  that  there 
was  no  ground  upon  which  you  and  he 
could  stand  together.  The  things  you  hold 
essential  he  can  never  grasp  the  meaning 
of.  You  can't  expect  him  to,  any  more 
than  you  can  expect  him  to  decipher  words 
written  in  an  unknown  tongue." 

"Then,"  I  faltered,  "the  opinion — of  the 
person — who  wrote  that  paragraph — is  the 
same  as  yours  ?" 

"Essentially  it  is,"  she  answered.  "He's 
very  charming  to  meet  and  very  good-look- 
ing, but  you  can't  get  away  from  the  fact 
that  he's  a  poor  thing!  If  he  had  great 
virtues  you  could  forgive  him  for  having 
great  faults.  He  has  neither.  Why,  Bar- 
bara !  It  would  take  a  hundred  of  him  to 
make  one  of  you !  His  nature  has  an  alto- 


218        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

gether  different  consistency  from  yours. 
It's  thin!" 

"But  is  he  really  a  fortune-hunter?"  I 
asked  wistfully.  "Is  he  so  despicable  as 
that?" 

"Quite,"  she  affirmed.  "When  he  was 
staying  with  us  at  Westbury  in  June  he 
was  very  attentive  to  my  daughter  Ruth. 
However" — sighing — "Ruth  knows  how  to 
take  care  of  herself." 

My  cheeks  blazed. 

"He  said  he  despised  her!"  I  cried. 

"Perhaps  he  did,"  she  returned,  "but  he 
proposed  marriage  to  her  none  the  less." 

Words  half  forgotten  came  back  to  me: 
"I  stay  here  because — because  that's  the 
kind  of  thing  we  plotters  and  schemers  do. 
If  I'd  come  in  contact — years  ago — with  a 
few  girls  like  you  I'd  have  been  out  of  that 
class  long  ago.  Won't  you — help  me — to 
get  out  of  it  now?" 

Was  it  after  this  that  he  had  proposed  to 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA        219 

the  Alvord  girl,  and  been  rejected  ?  He  had 
not  moved  over  to  us  for  four  days !  Had 
he  even  then  been  laying  the  foundation  for 
plotting  and  scheming  in  a  fresh  channel 
in  case  of  his  failure  in  this  ?  Was  that 
why  he  had  come  to  see  me  in  the  intervals 
of  his  pursuit  ? 

"What  shall  I  do?"  I  cried.  "How  shall 
I  tell  him?" 

"In  the  fewest  possible  words,"  she  ad- 
vised. "Avoid  anything  in  the  nature  of 
a  scene.  You  could  leave  it  to  your  mother, 
of  course." 

"That  would  be  cowardly,"  I  replied. 
"After  all,  it's  my  business." 

"You're  no  shirker!"  she  commented. 

When  I  left  her  the  only  thing  I  had 
omitted  to  confide  to  her  was  the  incident 
of  my  meeting  with  John  Randall.  Through- 
out our  talk  his  name  had  not  been  men- 
tioned. 

Mother  was   annoyed  with   me   and   her 


220        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

indictment  held  two  counts:  the  first,  that  I 
had  gone  out  without  a  maid;  the  second, 
that  I  had  remained  away  for  hours  with- 
out notifying  her.  She  had  three  "days" 
to  take  me  to,  and  my  remiss  behavior  was 
the  topic  of  our  conversation  all  the  after- 
noon. 

It  did  not  occur  to  her  to  inquire  into 
the  cause  of  my  prolonged  absence.  Poor 
mother  lived  in  a  confusing  world,  where 
phenomena  happened  arbitrarily,  without 
rhyme  or  reason — when  they  happened  at 
all.  When  her  mental  sun  set  it  dropped 
with  a  thud  below  the  horizon,  unhampered 
by  any  natural  laws.  Therefore,  she  never 
got  below  the  outer  layer  of  things. 

I  went  to  a  dance  that  evening,  as  usual; 
and  no  sooner  had  I  entered  the  ballroom 
than  I  was  aware  of  Allan  Denning — the 
whole  five  feet  eleven  of  him — leaning 
against  a  foolish,  frivolous  wall  of  white 
and  gold.  Blue  of  eye,  bronze  of  head, 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA        221 

square  of  shoulders,  imposing  of  height  and 
bulk — all  these  advantages  I  conceded  him; 
only  so  complete  had  been  my  disillusion- 
ment that  I  didn't  care  a  snap  of  my  finger 
any  more.  They  meant  exactly  nothing  to 
me  now. 

How  lately  I  had  thought  him  out  of 
his  element  in  a  ballroom !  I  remembered 
curiously  that  the  blue  of  his  eyes  had 
seemed  to  me  like  the  shadows  on  snow 
when  the  sun  was  shining.  I  had  associated 
him  with  out-of-doors.  I  now  saw  that  I 
had  complicated  matters  which  were,  in 
fact,  essentially  simple.  If  Allan  had  be- 
longed out-of-doors  he  would  have  been 
there !  This  was  his  true  element — this  his 
natural  setting;  here  he  lived  and  moved 
and  had  his  being — amid  the  artificiality, 
the  champagne,  the  powder,  and  the  pearls. 

I  might  as  well  tell  him  right  then  and 
there,  and  get  it  over.  The  circumstances 
were  conducive  to  the  avoidance  of  any 


222        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

sort  of  scene.  He  saw  me  and  approached 
at  once. 

"I  haven't  got  the  hang  of  this  new  step 
yet,"  he  said  easily;  "but  shall  we  make  a 
stab  at  it?" 

To  his  amazement  I  answered,  so  low 
that  no  one  else  could  hear: 

"Allan,  something  has  happened — to  con- 
vince me — that  you  don't  really  care  for 
me.  It  was — a  thing  I  saw — in  Gossip. 
I  wanted  to  tell  you — right  out — as  soon  as 
possible.  I  only  saw  it  this  morning.  This 
is  my  very  first  chance." 

He  paused,  thunderstruck,  and  then  mut- 
tered, incredulous: 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  you  place  any 
reliance  on  that — vile  slander!" 

"It's  been  substantiated,"  I  returned 
quietly,  and  looked  him  steadily  in  the 
eyes — those  eyes  that,  so  far  as  I  was  con- 
cerned, might  just  as  well  have  been  stones. 
They  dropped  before  mine. 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA        223 

With  an  effort  he  pulled  himself  together 
and  bent  his  handsome  head. 

"Barbara!"  he  began.  "Little  girl! 
Don't  let  any  one  tell  you  I'm  not  crazy 
about  you!  Come  with  me  somewhere— 
anywhere — where  I  can  explain." 

"What's  the  use,  Allan?"  I  returned 
sadly.  "It  wouldn't  do  a  bit  of  good.  I've 
made  up  my  mind." 

"Not" — he  gasped — "not  to  throw  me 
over?" 

"Just  that !"  was  my  grave  reply.  "After 
talking  with  Mrs.  Barton  Winslow." 

He  blanched  to  the  roots  of  his  hair. 
Then  he  noticed  a  group  of  men  near  the 
door  observing  us  rather  narrowly. 

"We  can't  discuss  this  here,"  he  whis- 
pered hurriedly.  "If  you  won't  come  out- 
side, dance  with  me,  will  you  ?  Only  once 
round !  People  are  looking.  They  can  see 
that  something's  up." 

I     stared,     trying     to     understand     him. 


224        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

Either  he  knew  me  so  little  as  not  to  take 
me  seriously,  or  else  he  was  proposing  to 
let  slip  a  crucial  opportunity,  on  the  ground 
that  "people  were  looking"!  Oh,  how 
trivial,  how  incorrigibly  trivial  he  was ! 
How  right  Mrs.  Winslow  had  been ! 

"Just  one  turn!"  he  urged,  more  and 
more  uncomfortable. 

"Certainly,"  I  said,  and  let  him  swing 
me  away. 

We  had  not  progressed  ten  feet  before 
Johnny  Hargrave  cut  in.  Thus,  Allan,  no 
doubt  to  his  intense  relief,  was  most  oppor- 
tunely released  from  an  embarrassing  sit- 
uation. 

I  received  two  impassioned  notes  from 
him  during  the  course  of  the  next  morning, 
begging  me  to  see  him  at  the  house;  and, 
these  having  elicited  no  reply,  he  followed 
them  in  the  afternoon  with  a  third,  in  which 
he  actually  suggested  a  clandestine  inter- 
view in  the  park.  Which  was  going  pretty 
far — for  Allan. 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA        225 

That  evening  I  went  to  mother's  room 
to  tell  her  that  I  had  determined  to  give 
him  up.  She  had  finished  dressing,  and  was 
walking  to  and  fro  before  her  cheval  glass, 
scrutinizing  over  her  shoulder  the  details 
of  her  costume,  while  Yvonne  stood  silently 
by.  When  I  whispered  that  I  wanted  to 
speak  with  her  alone  she  sent  the  latter 
away;  and  I  announced  my  decision.  Her 
gratification  knew  no  bounds.  Never  had 
I  seen  her  so  elated. 

"You'll  get  twice  as  much  out  of  your 
social  opportunities  now!"  she  exulted. 

Then  she  seemed  to  forget  that  I  was 
there,  and  started  walking  up  and  down 
again,  but  not  before  the  mirror  this  time. 
All  at  once  she  stopped  and  hung  poised 
on  an  arched  foot.  Her  clasped  hands, 
with  their  rosy  nails,  supported  her  delicate 
chin;  below  them  her  breast  rose  and  fell 
in  an  accession  of  pleasurable  excitement; 
triumph  was  on  her  lips,  and  in  her  eyes 
were  dreams — of  dukes. 


226        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

Poor  mother !  My  heart  went  out  to 
her,  and  I  longed  to  protect  her — from  life. 
Since  our  ideals  were  irreconcilable,  it  was 
inevitable  that  I  should  disappoint  her  at 
every  turn — again,  and  again,  and  again. 
Between  us  lay  the  intangible  forces  of  the 
Imponderables,  holding  us  forever  apart. 

As  I  passed  her  on  my  way  out  I  touched 
an  end  of  the  filmy  tulle  she  had  wound 
about  her  throat,  with  lingering  fingers  full 
of  compunction,  tenderness,  and  regret. 

I  stayed  at  home  that  night  for  the  first 
time  in  many  weeks,  and  seated  myself  in 
the  up-stairs  sitting-room  beside  the  fire, 
with  a  book.  But  in  my  unsettled  mood 
the  tale  I  had  chosen  ran  its  course  too 
deliberately;  and  as  for  the  fire,  it  soon 
became  unbearably  hot.  I  moved  away; 
but  the  walls  of  the  room  seemed  closing 
in  on  me,  giving  me  a  sensation  of  suffoca- 
tion. The  artificial  system  of  heating  worked 
too  well;  though  the  month  was  February, 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA       227 

so  carefully  had  drafts  been  excluded  that 
one  could  hardly  draw  breath.  I  went  to 
the  window  and  gave  it  an  energetic  shove. 
It  flew  upward,  letting  in  a  vigorous  blast 
that  stung  my  temples  deliciously. 

Fifth  Avenue  was  still  pulsating;  buses 
rumbled,  motors  hummed;  pedestrians  went 
by,  walking  briskly,  their  necks  muffled  in 
their  collars.  This  was  no  night  for  lingering. 

Only  one  man — that  slim  one  there — did 
not  seem  to  be  in  any  hurry.  I  watched 
him  until  he  was  out  of  my  field  of  vision.  A 
moment  more  and  he  was  within  range 
again,  retracing  his  steps.  Directly  in  front 
of  the  house  he  paused,  looking  up,  and  in 
the  glare  of  the  arc-light  I  saw  John  Ran- 
dall's face — off  guard.  What  I  read  in  it 
caused  me  to  dash  out  of  the  room  head- 
long and  run  down  the  stairs  two  steps  at 
a  time.  He  had  not  moved  when  the  heavy 
grilled  door  yielded,  under  protest,  to  my  hand. 

"Come   in!"    I    said    peremptorily.      He 


228        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

made  no  motion  to  obey.  "I  was  going 
to  write  you,"  I  said  slowly.  "It's  over — 
the  thing  we  were  talking  about." 

He  came  in  then;  and  when  I  had  closed 
the  door  behind  him  he  said: 

"How  awfully  hard  for  you!" 

"Not  any  more!"  I  answered  quickly. 
"It  wasn't — the  real  thing.  I  think  I  felt 
that  subconsciously  all  the  time." 

In  the  sitting-room,  since  the  window 
had  remained  open  in  the  interval,  the  air 
was  thoroughly  changed. 

"Why,"  I  demanded  abruptly,  "couldn't 
you  have  rung  the  door-bell  and  asked  for 
me  ?  If  I  hadn't  opened  the  window  just 
then  I  should  never  have  known  you  were 
there!  Oh,  John  Randall,  why  will  you 
always  stay  outside?" 

His  eyes  pricked  mine. 

"Because  I'm  an  outsider,"  he  retorted; 
"and  I  never  trespass  on  private  grounds. 
I  only  skirt  them  occasionally." 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA        229 

"I'm  an  outsider  too,"  I  said  gravely. 
"I  always  suspected  it,  and  now  I  know 
it.  I  don't  belong  here  any  more  than  you 
do.  Some  day  or  other  I'm  going  to  dis- 
cover where  it  is  that  I  do  belong!" 

He  took  a  deep  breath  and  his  eyes 
glowed. 

"I  wanted  to  hear  you  say  it,"  he  avowed. 
"I  just  wanted  to  hear  you  say  it !  They've 
put  you  in  a  mould — and  you've  come  out 
retaining  your  own  shape.  It  staggers  be- 
lief! I  couldn't  have  done  it.  No  one 
could — but  you." 

"Do  you  remember,"  I  asked  quietly, 
"the  imitation  lobster,  that  night  we  met? 
The  wolf  in  sheep's  clothing?" 

"Yes,"  he  nodded.  "And  I  remember 
just  what  your  comment  was.  'That's 
what  they're  trying  to  do  with  me,'  you 
said." 

"Do  you  remember  your  answer?" 

"How  can  I  remember  what  I  said?" 


230        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

"Well,  then,  I  do.  You  said:  'Don't  let 
them.'  And,  if  I  haven't,  you're  more  than 
half  responsible." 

As  I  spoke  I  could  see  his  reserve — that 
provoking  reserve  which  had  so  long  de- 
flected our  lives  out  of  their  true  course 
— breaking  up,  like  ice  before  spring  fresh- 
ets. 

"You'd  have  done  it,  anyway,"  he 
averred.  "You've  got  a  nature  that  would 
pull  out  of  anything !  And  there's  no  ruth- 
lessness  in  it,  either;  that's  the  beauty  of 
it.  How  you  were  able  to  curb  it,  to  hold  it 
down  as  you  did,  to  defer  in  every  way  to 
your  father  and  mother,  to  give  their  sys- 
tem a  fair  show,  instead  of  taking  the  bit  in 
your  teeth,  is  a  marvel  to  me!  And  I'm 
not  the  only  one,  either.  You  ought  to  hear 
what  Mrs.  Winslow  thinks  about  it !  You 
ought  to  know  what  she  thinks  of  you,  any- 
way. She  thinks  you're  the  straightest,  the 
cleanest-minded,  the  safest  and  the  most 


BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA         231 

earnest  girl  she's  ever  seen.  Besides  that, 
she  thinks " 

"Oh,  pooh!"  I  cut  him  short.  "Mrs. 
Winslow  never  said  that!" 

"Some  of  it  she  did,"  he  affirmed,  the 
eyes  that  had  been  all  steady  light  sud- 
denly atwinkle.  "Anyway,  I  didn't  say 
she  said  it — I  said  she  thought  it!" 

We  threw  back  our  heads  and  laughed. 

"Why  don't  you  speak  for  yourself, 
John?"  I  challenged  teasingly. 

But  he  stopped  laughing  and  trembled 
from  head  to  foot. 

"It's  the  money!"  he  blurted  out,  with 
a  boy's  abruptness.  "That's  what  it  is,  if 
you  want  to  know." 

"But  the  money's  an  accident!"  I  cried, 
wondering.  "An  incident !  Why  do  you 
make  it  so  important  ?  We  needn't  use 
the  money  I'll  have,  for  ourselves.  We  can 
use  it  for  foundations  of  some  sort — or 
hospitals.  We'll  see,"  I  ended  contentedly, 


232        BRINGING  OUT  BARBARA 

"what  we'll  use  it  for.  And  meantime  we'll 
be  living  on  yours.  You'll  have  enough  to 
keep  me  in  smocks — if  I  paint  too.  Have- 
n't you  just  made  a  stupendous  success  ? 
Haven't  you  got  orders  it'll  take  you  two 
years  to  fill?'* 

With  one  cry  he  sprang  toward  me  and 
crushed  me  in  his  arms. 


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